SPN Reader Insert
by intjsherlocked
Summary: Your life is relatively normal - that is, until Sam and Dean show up in your town and you get roped into their adventures. Reader insert fic, featuring you, the reader! Gen fic.
1. Chapter 1

_In case you ever wanted to read a story in which you meet Sam and Dean and go on an adventure with them – well, here it is._

 _Just imagine yourself as "you" in the story, and remember:_

 **Y/N - your name**

 **B/F/N - best friend's name**

 _Enjoy!_

"You've got to be kidding me," you grumbled to your best friend as you both exited your history class. "Annotate and analyze fifteen primary source documents? When are we even supposed to do all of that?"

"At two in the morning, apparently," B/F/N responded, swinging the other half of her backpack onto her shoulder. "Can we FaceTime and do it together? It'll go much quicker,"

"Yeah, definitely," you said, slightly absentmindedly, squeezing by the vast crowd of high schoolers coming up the stairs. You were halfway down the stairs when the suddenly you froze, whirling around to face B/F/N. "Do we have a chemistry test today?!"

"Yeah."

"I didn't study," you said faintly, feeling a sense of dread gather in your chest. "I didn't study. I completely forgot."

"Study during lunch," your friend suggested. "It's just a quiz. Not a major test."

"I already saved all of my chemistry homework for lunch," you said. "I'm so screwed."

"Don't worry about the quality of the homework, then. Just get it done," B/F/N said seriously, entering the cafeteria. You both weaved your way in between the tables, found an empty one, and set your backpacks down before proceeding to the line for food. "I can help you. We'll get it done."

"Thanks," you said gratefully, selecting a chicken fajita wrap and paying for it. You and B/F/N made your way back to your table, and you set your food aside to take out your homework before eating.

"How long did it take you to do the homework?" you asked while scribbling down an answer you were fairly sure was wrong.

"About half an hour," B/F/N admitted, "but I wasn't doing it very quickly. You could probably finish it in twenty then study for the last ten minutes."

You managed to write down three answers when one of the women who worked in the front office approached your table.

"Y/N?" the office lady asked, glancing at you. "You're wanted in the office."

"Alright," you said hesitantly, and once the office lady was retreating from your table you turned to B/F/N panickedly. "How am I going to finish the chemistry homework?!"

"I'll finish it for you," B/F/N promised. "Go!"

You ran your hands through you hair, shooting B/F/N a look that was both extremely appreciative and frantic, picked up your bag, then turned to go down to the office.  
If you had any luck, it would be your mom coming in to take you out early, unexpectedly. She did that often with doctor's appointments to surprise you. Unfortunately, though, that was more so back in middle school and not as of late, since your homework load as a sophomore meant that you couldn't miss school that much - especially chemistry.

But if it wasn't your mom coming to pick you up, you weren't quite sure why you were needed in the office. You weren't in trouble - that you were sure of.

You entered the front office. There were several people already in there. A senior girl was signing herself out early, swinging her keys loudly in her fist. One of the science teachers was talking animatedly to the secretary, his hands waving about his head. Two attractive young men wearing professional suits were sitting quietly in the chairs by the window, and the principal was making his way through the back of the office, nodding his head and smiling to everyone that he passed.

"Hello," you said to the secretary once the science teacher had moved aside. "Um, I was called down here…?"

"Yes," the secretary said warily, looking rather solemn. "There are two FBI agents here. They want to talk to you."

"What?" you said, not quite processing. "FBI? Why? I haven't done anything - I don't think-"

"They said that it wasn't a huge deal. They just needed to ask you a couple questions," the secretary said quietly, nodding her head towards the two men sitting in the chairs in the corner of the room. They noticed you and her looking at them and stood up, smoothing their suit jackets.

"Hello. Y/N?" the taller one said, and he was very tall; he towered over everyone else in the room. Though his stature was intimidating, his voice was gentle, and he waited for your answer patiently. You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm slightly.

"Is there an empty office, or classroom that we could take for the moment?" the shorter FBI agent asked - but though he was "shorter" he was still tall as well. He stood at ease, appearing very comfortable in the environment. The secretary nodded and pointed to an office behind the front desk.

"Thank you, ma'am," the shorter FBI agent said, and he led them forward. "Nothing to worry about, Y/N, just need to have a quick talk about something confidential." He shut the door behind them and the sound of the office was abruptly cut off - without the low murmur of voice and the printer whirring, it was eerily quiet.

Thoughts were flying like a freight train through your mind, yet no rational reason came to mind for why FBI agents would want to speak to you. You had almost forgotten about the chemistry homework and quiz; now, all you cared about was exactly how red your cheeks were, and if these two young men had noticed. You could feel your hands shaking slightly, and you tucked them into one another, feeling the sweat slick in between your fingers.

The taller agent pulled out a chair for you and made his way to another chair by the other agent.

"Sorry that we had to pull you out of lunch," the taller one began apologetically. "I'm Agent Price and this is my partner, Agent Arnold."

Agent Arnold, the shorter one, shot a disgruntled look at Agent Price but you hardly noticed since you could nearly feel the blood in your veins pumping wildly against the inside of your skin.

"Alright, so this is going to seem a very odd question, but you'll have to bear with us," Agent Arnold said. "During the past couple of months, has anyone tried to… recruit you?"

You paused, frowning slightly. "Sorry?"

Agent Price leaned in. "What he means is, have any people come up to you, asking you to come with them? Or maybe even fight with them?"

You laugh out of nervousness, and as soon as you do you feel incredibly awkward for having done so. "I don't think so. I mean, my teacher tried to get me to join math team, if that's what you mean… but I don't recall - I mean, I haven't - I didn't - no one tried to, um… recruit me - I mean - not that I'm… aware of, um -" You're babbling now, and you finally just stop talking out of intense embarrassment. Your face feels so hot that you're sure there's no way the two agents haven't noticed.

"They haven't found her yet," Agent Arnold muttered into Agent Price's ear quickly, and you half-smiled to apologize for how awkward you are, but they don't seem to be paying much attention now. They stood up and moved to the back of the room and began murmuring quickly at each other as though you weren't there, so instead you sat there quietly waiting to be dismissed.

"They'll find her any day now," Agent Arnold said in a low voice. "We can't just leave her here."

"So what are we supposed to do? Just take her away from her life?" Agent Price demanded, running his left hand over his mouth almost nervously.

"Look, Cas told us she was here, and she's our last chance-"

"She's a sophomore! She has a life!"

"You think I don't know that?!"  
"I think that you're ignoring that, Dean. It doesn't matter if she's the key to winning this, because she's still _human_ , and she's a _kid-_ "

Agent Arnold put his hand in the air. "Look. If we don't act, then Crowley or some other dickbag will, and they're not going to wait for her consent. What would you rather for her? Us or them?"

Agent Price didn't answer, but instead tilted the corner of his mouth as though in defeat.

You sat there, hearing every word but not quite understanding. This probably had something to do with an academic camp, or something of the sort; your dad always liked it when you signed up for those types of things. At least, that was what you reasoned with yourself - but there seemed no plausible explanation for why it would be FBI agents.

Agent Price turned to you. "Y/N, we obviously can't force you to come with us, but you're not safe here. And… you're important. Really important, and I can't explain it now, but let's just say the bad guys - the ones who are putting you in danger - they know it too. Come with us, and we can keep you safe."

There was a pregnant pause in the room. You smiled again out of sheer anxiety for what was happening.

"You're… you're kidding, right?" you asked, a chuckle escaping your lips. "This is… a metaphor? Or a joke of some sort?"

"No, this is real life," Agent Arnold said, pursing his lips. "You're going to get hurt if you stay here. Hell, your whole family will probably get hurt. You need to come with us. We'll protect you."

"What? But, um… I'm sorry. I've got school, and classes, and grades to keep up," you said, your voice sounding slightly hysterical. "I don't even know you!"

"Look, we know that, too," Agent Price said, almost sounding desperate. "But Y/N, there's a fight coming - a war - between the bad guys and us, and we need you."

"Need me? What… what for?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly out of fear.

"You've got something special," Agent Arnold said. "We can't explain it in here, but you've got to trust us when we say that not only will the bad guys hurt you if you stay here, but you're also vital to the fate of…well, humanity as you know it."

"Why would I… go with you? I mean - sorry, that sounded rude," you said, struggling for words. "I mean… why should I… well…. Trust you?"

"Because it's our job to help people," Agent Arnold said. "Here, I'll tell you a bit about us. We're not actually FBI agents."

"Dean!" his partner said, giving him a look.

"We just needed to talk to you, and anyone will let you doing anything if you've got a fed badge," he continued. "My name's Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam Winchester."

"Brother," you repeated. "But… this isn't going to make me trust… why would you lie about being FBI agents?!"  
"We're brothers, and we were raised to fight the bad guys and help people. That's why you should trust us. It's our job," the taller one - Sam - cut in. "I know that isn't much of an offer, and I know that trusting us doesn't seem like a good idea at the moment. But your life, and the lives of the people you love? They depend on whether or not you place your trust in us."

You paused, shaking your head slightly. "I'm so sorry. I… can't. May I… go back to class?"

Dean exchanged a look with his brother. "Yeah, go ahead. But here," he said, scribbling his number onto a paper and sliding it across to you. "Call us the instant you change your mind, or the moment some other people that are less friendly start trying to recruit you."

You nod, standing and throwing your backpack over your shoulder again. A quick glance at the clock tells you that chemistry is halfway through, and you wince internally. There's no way that you'll pass that quiz.

"Thank you for the offer," you said politely, shaking both Sam and Dean's hands, before vacating the room with a last glance at the two young men. They didn't notice; their heads were already bent towards each other as though deep in conversation.


	2. Chapter 2

_A bit of gore in this chapter and the next. You have been warned._

You walked down the empty hallway. Sam and Dean's words were echoing in your mind, and though you didn't have any inclination to just go with them, it was lingering in your mind. You almost went straight by your chemistry classroom, and made a sharp left turn at the last moment. All of the heads in the room snapped over to you; clearly, the teacher was in a dull monologue. You continued to your seat quickly, taking out your folder and skimming the sheet you were supposed to have studied. B/F/N discreetly slid your homework over to you, and you mouthed _thank you_ back.

"Y/N, thanks for joining us," the teacher said, raising her eyebrows. "You got your homework?"

"Yes," you replied, taking the homework over to her with an immense feeling of guilt since you hadn't actually done it.

"Well, you're just in time for the quiz. Alright, folks, put everything away except for a pencil."

You dug in your bag for your pencil, and when you lifted up to your desk again, movement caught your eye.

Walking by the classroom door and retreating down the hallway were the two men, Sam and Dean. Dean walked with an confident lope, while his brother had a shorter, quicker pace. You watched them until they had rounded the corner, feeling slightly uneasy. Of course, you'd never _leave_ with them, but nevertheless you felt a pang of regret. What if they were right?

* * *

"Y/N! You've got to tell me now," B/F/N said once you had both changed into your gym clothing and were jogging down the hallway for indoor track. "What did the office want? Why were you there for so long?"

"Honestly, I don't really know," you said, uncertain. "There were two men claiming to be FBI agents because they wanted to talk to me. They were talking up all this hype about how I was really important and could win a battle against bad guys, or something along those lines. Almost right out of a movie. They wanted me to go with them so that they could keep me safe, or something."

"What did you say?" B/F/N asked as you both turned to run up the stairs.

"Well, I think I stuttered a lot, but basically I just told them no thanks and that I had classes to get back to," you said tentatively. "I don't know. It was weird. They must have issues with delusions or something. Either that, or they're messed up psychopaths."

"That's so creepy! What if they're stalkers?" B/F/N mused. "If you see them again, tell me and I'll come beat them up for you."

"Good luck," you said dryly. "They're both really tall. And muscular."

"Are they attractive?"  
"They're like, in their twenties," you said, feeling apprehensive. "I suppose so. One of them had really nice hair."

B/F/N laughed. "They sound bizarre."

You laughed back, but as you and B/F/N jogged past the windowed entrance to the school, a black car caught your eye. It was parked inconspicuously in the parking lot, but it was a nice car, and inside were the two men - Sam and Dean. A feeling of ice plummeted in your stomach and you averted your eyes quickly, afraid that you would make eye contact.

"Don't look now, but that's them in the black car in the parking lot," you said in a low voice. "No! Don't look. When we jog back through here, then look."

B/F/N looked worriedly at you. "They _are_ stalkers! Should we report them?"

"No," you said quickly. "They'll hopefully have moved on by tomorrow."

* * *

"How was your day?" your dad asked when you sat down with the rest of your family for dinner. "Learn anything new? Meet new friends?"

You dug into your broccoli, shrugging. "Nah. Nothing much happened." You didn't have the energy to explain the whole incident with the strange men; your mom would only be extremely concerned if she knew that two fake FBI agents were attempting to get you to join them on some sort of crack-induced adventure. Your sibling, sitting to your left, interrupted the conversation to tell about the school's basketball game that would be going on that night, and you took the opportunity to duck your head and continue eating your food in as inconspicuous a manner as possible. Anxious to return to your bedroom to do homework (well - probably watch an episode or two on Netflix, first), you finished eating quickly and stood to rinse your plate when there was a knock on the front door.

Your dad got up to open the door. A sudden pang of fear rippled through you instinctually.

"Dad, don't!" you cried out.

Your dad paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Don't be ridiculous. It's probably the neighbor coming with the money for the snow plowing."

"Yes, but…" you struggled for words. "There were two men who… had some things to say to me today and I think it might be them."

Your dad simply shook his head and opened the door. You twisted your neck to see, absolutely positive that it would be that Sam and Dean from school today.

To your surprise, it wasn't Sam and Dean. It was a middle-aged man with dark hair, a navy tie, and a black trench coat.

"Ah. 'Ello," the man said in a British accent. "Mind if I come in?" He didn't wait for an answer, but instead stepped inside, ignoring the surprised look on your dad's face. He turned to you, and you backed up quickly to the edge of the counter in your kitchen. "Hm. I expected you to be taller, Y/N. A bit disappointing."

"Who are you?" your dad asked roughly.

"My apologies. The name's Crowley," the man said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "How about a family meeting?"

Your dad contemplated the man, sizing him up, then stepped back. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Just a brief chat," Crowley said pleasantly. "Do you have any water, might I ask?"

Your mom, who had been standing a bit behind your dad, nodded and went into the kitchen. You made eye contact with her before quickly slipping out of the kitchen and out of sight of Crowley, whose eyes you could feel on your back.

 _Crowley._

The name was familiar. Sam and Dean had mentioned it earlier that day, when they were talking in the office. What was it that Dean had said?

" _If we don't act, then Crowley or some other dickbag will, and they're not going to wait for her consent."_

You glanced back at the hallway, where only the shadows of your parents and Crowley were visible. You pulled the slip of paper out of your pocket - the one that Dean had scribbled his number onto.

A nagging feeling tugged at the back of your mind that quite possibly Crowley was friendly, and that it was Sam and Dean that were potential serial killers. Yet you typed the number into your phone before closing your phone, so if necessary you could quickly call them. The ink on the paper glared, shimmering in the dim light of the hall. You had no intentions to call those creeps, but just in case they were right - you were ready.

"So you're from the school?" your mom was saying.

"Yes. Y/N is a sublime student," Crowley was saying. "I came to discuss a potential rigorous academic route for her."

You joined them by the front door, unconsciously hugging yourself tightly.

"There you are. Y/N, I came to discuss a possible opportunity for you."

You've never seen this man in your life, yet he knows your name and is claiming to work at your school. Your mind whirred, and you panicked, at a loss for words, unable to decide if you should blurt that out or play along to see what this man clad in dark colors wanted.

"I've got a pamphlet, of course, with all of the details, but to make the long story short, it's a year-long course in Nunavut that one student from each school in the state is permitted to attend. All expenses are paid by the school," Crowley said smoothly. "Your GPA and work habits indicate that you're an ambitious student. The other teachers at the school and I agree that for our school, you're suitable for the course."

Your dad finally raises his eyebrows in suspicion. "Why weren't we made aware of this through email?"

"The superintendent prefers to keep things dramatic, I suppose," Crowley said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to shrug. "Of course, I'd provide the more nitty-gritty information to you if you're interested - are you interested, Y/N?" He turned his dark gaze onto you unwaveringly.

" _During the past couple of months, has anyone tried to… recruit you?"_

Sam and Dean's words echoed in your mind.

"I don't know you," you said finally, flicking your gaze to your father. "Dad, he doesn't work at my school."

Your dad reacted quicker than you would have expected, whirling around to Crowley. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing in here?"

The front door suddenly slammed shut, without anyone touching it, and you flinched, backpedaling quickly in trepidation.

"Alright. I think we're done," your dad said, attempting to pull the door back open; however, it wouldn't budge. Your dad tugged at it, then turned around to stare at Crowley threateningly. "Did you lock us in here? Get away from my family! What do you even _think_ you're doing-"

"My business is my own," Crowley interrupted quietly. "I promise you all that you do not want to cross me. Now, I'll ask again - are you interested, Y/N?"

Sam and Dean's faces floated into your mind. " _But your life, and the lives of the people you love? They depend on whether or not you place your trust in us."_

You shake your head violently, wanting more than anything for these strange men to stop trying to talk to you.

"Wrong answer," Crowley said, and he lifted his right hand into the air, then snapped his fingers.

There was the most minute of moments in which you felt utter confusion, and then there was a resounding crack that felt like a needle burying itself into your eardrums. Your dad instantly contorted to the right, the bone of his neck pushing against the flesh and popping purple veins against his skin. For one ephemeral instant, his gaze reached yours, and then the moment passed and he toppled to the floor, unmoving.

The sound that came out of your throat was half a strangled cry, and half a guttural scream. You collapsed to your dad's side, feeling for his pulse.

 _No. He's fine. He just sprained his neck - that's all. He's fine._

Your fingers brushed his neck and the exposed bone and bile rose in your throat. Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you could hear your mom's tortured cries, and could feel her falling to your side with you.

Your dad stared back up at you, his eyes fallen on you yet no sign of recognition was behind them.

"Hm. That was a rather nasty one. I apologize. Usually the bone doesn't come out that prominently," Crowley was saying, and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you felt yourself lunging forward and slamming into the man in front of you.

 _He snapped his fingers. He killed my father by snapping his fingers. He killed him. He's dead. The bone. The crack. The blood. The eyes._

Images of the scene were flickering in front of you rapidly, and all that you could think of was punching this man in front of you as much as possible - make him hurt, make him pay, make him feel some sort of the agony that was clawing its way out of you right now.

Suddenly, you were thrusting your fist at thin air, and you cried out in pain as your knuckles connected with the wall Crowley had just been standing in front of. The room suddenly tilted violently as though someone had knocked it to the side and you fell to your knees, clutching at the wall and vomiting.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, there was a repeated chant saying to get help, get help, get help, and while your siblings came crashing down the stairs, screaming at the sight before them, and your mother sobbed uncontrollably on the floor, and Crowley stood silently, watching the scene unfold before him, tapping his toe - you pulled out your phone and pressed dial.

" _Call us the instant you change your mind, or the moment some other people that are less friendly start trying to recruit you."_

The number you had typed in earlier began to ring.

"911 won't help," Crowley said, an amused expression on his face. "I already disconnected the station's phones. You think I'm stupid. Now, I'll ask you again." He paused for effect, and you didn't move the phone from your ear.

 _Come on, pick up. Pick up!_

"Hello?" came the baritone voice on the other end of the line. Crowley stood expectantly, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"Hello? I need help! Please, come, there's a man here and - my dad - he's on the floor, his neck snapped!"

"We'll be there in thirty seconds," the voice on the other end replied quickly. "Please come!" you begged, choking on your words.

Crowley's eyes narrowed and he snapped his fingers again; you winced, shutting your eyes, but instead the phone in your hand shattered into hundreds of fragments.

"No more phone calls," Crowley said firmly. "Who did you call?"

You could only shudder and taste the hot tears sliding onto your lips, blinking incomprehensively at your still father and then at Crowley.

"I said, who did you call?" Crowley asked, making a fist with his hand. An invisible force squeezed around you and you coughed harshly.

"I don't know, I don't know, there was a man at school today and he told me to call if someone came - I swear, I don't know him-"

"Was his name, by chance, Dean Winchester?"

You nodded, glancing back towards your mother and siblings, who were huddled on the floor by your father, looks of shock apparent on their faces.

"Damn him," Crowley said in a low voice, and in that moment the door behind you was flung open vigorously.

Sam and Dean, no longer dressed in suits, came sprinting into the door, guns out. You heard yourself shriek in fear and dove aside; a sudden gunshot rang out and you clapped your hands to your ears, tears running down your face as you curled up, landing in the pool of blood from your father's dead body.

 _Tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_There were issues uploading this chapter (thank you so much TotallyChic for letting me know!), so I apologize for any technical difficulties, and multiple notifications for this chapter. Hopefully the others upload more smoothly._

 _A bit more gore. This is a shorter chapter, but the next one will be longer._

Once the ringing had stopped in your ears, you slowly sat up, blinking back the salt out of your eyes. Sam and Dean were standing in front of you, poised with their guns out, and Crowley was standing in the exact same place as before.

"Should've known that the woodland creatures would come," Crowley muttered. His eyes flicked over to your face and processed your confusion. "Y/N, this is Moose and Squirrel."

"Moose and… squirrel?" you repeated, your words feeling stuffy and overlarge in your mouth.

"They're nicknames that he thinks are funny," Dean said, staying perfectly still as though movement would scare Crowley away.

You moved backwards towards your mom, who took you protectively in her arms.

"You move, Crowley, and I'll stab your heart so quickly that you won't have time to yell," Dean growled.

"I'm not going anywhere," Crowley said flatly, looking mildly irritated. "I know the treaty just as well as you do." His words slowed slightly and he looked directly at you. "I can still do this." Crowley raised his hand in the same manner as before, and it was as though in slow motion.

"No!" roared Dean, jumping forward to stop Crowley's fingers from snapping, but it was too late; this time, however, a collective, sickening crack rang in your ears and your mom toppled like a rag doll onto the floor, flopping backwards with finality in her posture.

"No!" you could hear yourself screaming, and suddenly you were aware that your siblings' necks had been snapped too - they were on the floor. They were dead.

Dead.

Snapped.

Gone.

A chill ran up your arms and the screaming in your ears wouldn't stop; it took you a moment to realize that it was you making the sound, and it was cut off abruptly and tears spilled over your cheeks and onto your family's fallen bodies and broken necks.

You were barely aware that Sam was by your side, holding your shoulders almost protectively, and telling you something, but you either couldn't hear him or couldn't process his words. Crowley also seemed to be shouting at you, a look of desperation on his face, but you couldn't hear him either. The tears suddenly seemed to run out, leaving you sitting emptily on the floor, staring in shock at your family. The temperature in the room had plunged, it seemed, to freezing temperatures, but you didn't care. Your head felt as though it were spinning, and a wave of dizziness made the edges of your vision black.

"Hey! Y/N!" Sam was saying.

Dean was suddenly there too, leaving Crowley standing by the door. "Sam, we've got to get the hell out of here, in case he decides to change his mind-"

"Yeah. Let's go," Sam said, pulling you to your feet. You let them lead you forward, and only when you left the front door did you realize what was happening.

"I can't leave them!" you cried out, a sob escaping your lips. "They might still be alive - they might be okay - we need to call 911-" You tugged out of their grip but Dean caught your wrist.

"They're gone," he said quietly. "There's nothing you can do."

"No! They're fine, they're just…" You couldn't finish your sentence and broke down again.

"Keep going, go!" Dean said, running to the black car you had seen earlier today.

"I'm not going!" you protested, pulling away when Sam opened the back door for you to get inside. "I'm staying here! I need to - I need… my family… they're alive, they need help!"

"Y/N," Sam said, bending so that he was eye level with you. "I know that this seems like a nightmare right now, but you've got to come with us." His tone was soft but urgent, and you nodded, and the fact that you were getting in the car with two strangers didn't even faze you at all; the only thing you could think of was the cracking sound that had reverberated in your ears.

* * *

You had been riding in the car with Sam and Dean for at least two hours now, and you hadn't spoken one word. The brothers were speaking softly in the front seat, and they hadn't pressed you to talk at all. You could feel your hands trembling and you rested your head against the window, your cheeks bone dry since the shock of what happened had registered. Surprisingly, though you had no idea where you were going, you didn't care. It didn't matter if these two men were going to shackle you up in their basement and starve you to death - you found that you didn't care at all.

The bouncing of the car was unexpectedly soothing and the hum of the motor kept you awake, staring out the window yet not seeing.

Eventually, Dean cleared his throat, and you tilted your head slightly to see him looking at you through the rearview mirror.

"We're stopping for food. Do you want anything?" he asked.

You shook your head no. Dean steered the car into the lot of a poorly lit diner and shut off the engine.

"Stay in here with her," he muttered to Sam, as though he thought you'd have the spirit to run away. Only a black pit of despair was inside you right now, and the thought of trying to escape hadn't even crossed your mind.

Rain began to patter on the roof of the car and the ambience lessened the tight feeling in your chest slightly. Night had fallen an hour ago and only the twinkling of streetlights cast an orange glow into the car, but it was obscured slightly by the obstruction of raindrops gathering on the windows.

Sam cleared his throat slightly. "I know that this won't… make the situation any less horrible for you, but I know what it's like to have your family killed in front of you," he said quietly. "It seems like the end of the world, but I promise you that things will get better. Definitely not today, and maybe not even a couple months from now. But they will."

You didn't answer, afraid that any sort of response would come out choked.

"In the meantime," Sam continued, "if you want to stay with us, we've got a place - a bunker, actually - over in Kansas."

"Thanks," you whispered back, unsure of what else to say. "Why did Crowley… I don't understand. Why did he want me to go on that academic trip-?"  
"It wasn't an academic trip. He wanted you to be on his side," Sam said. "There's a war coming, and it's going to be bloody. He thinks that you might be the game-changer."

"That's what you guys think, too," you said, meeting Sam's eyes for the first time.

Sam sighed. "We do, but that doesn't mean that you're just a pawn in this war. Crowley would treat you horribly, then throw you out like garbage. We're not like that."

The creaking of the car door opening alerted them to Dean's return.

"Here," he said, handing first a wrap to Sam and then a sandwich to you. "I figured you like grilled cheese." He pulled a burger out of the bag for himself and unwrapped it.

Startled, you looked down at the grilled cheese in your hands and then back at Dean.

"Thanks," you whispered again, blinking rapidly to avoid tears spilling again.

"We'll probably keep going for another hour or two," Dean said, starting the engine. "Then we'll stop at a motel for the night."

 _Tbc_

 _Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: They're not mine (as much as I'd like them to be). All rights go to Kripke._

You emerged from the bathroom, having brushed your teeth with your finger since your toothbrush was back at home. The disbelief of that night had faded, leaving you now with a bone-chilling hollowness; almost as though there was a gaping hole in your chest that the winter air was blowing straight through.

The motel room was decorated in olive green. Suspicious stains covered the floor and the blankets were faded yellow, but they smelled clean at the very least. You were somewhere in Pennsylvania, you remembered Dean saying.

"I'm sorry we had to leave so quickly," Sam said, sitting down on the bed across from you. The brothers were sharing the queen-sized bed and you had taken the single. "We can pick you up some clothes tomorrow."

You looked down at your outfit. You were still in your track clothes from earlier, but now they were stained with blood. It was cold in the motel room and the rain outside had turned to sleet - the space heater in the corner did little to improve the temperature. Goosebumps rose over your flesh and you slid under the blanket, still sitting up.

"How did Crowley… kill them?" you asked suddenly. Sam glanced up from his laptop and Dean looked over from where he was positioned in front of a football game on the television. Simultaneously, they looked at each other, as though conversing silently.

"Crowley isn't a normal person," Dean said briefly. "He's got tricks. Special abilities."

"But… how?" you persisted. "I mean, I'm coming with you guys because clearly you want me for this stupid war that you keep talking about, so the least you could do is tell me how that man snapped his fingers and - and…" you finished abruptly, averting your eyes.

Sam exhaled. "Alright. Again, this might sound a bit absurd, but you have to trust us." He leaned forward slightly. "Not everyone is human. Vampires, werewolves, fairies, angels, demons - they all exist. Crowley's a demon."

"Demon," you echoed.

"King of Hell, actually," Dean pitched in. "He's dangerous. Can be a great ally, but will cross you in a heartbeat."

You looked at Sam, then Dean. "Come on, though… fairies? Werewolves?" You hesitated, looking down at your fingers because you could feel your face growing red by simply talking to them. "Can you prove it?"

"You'll find out on your own soon enough," Dean said darkly. "Well, that is, if you stay with us. We hunt monsters for a living."

"But… _monsters_ are in fairy tales," you said doubtfully. "First you're telling me that you need me, now you're saying there are monsters?"

Sam tilted his head, tipping it in agreement. "It's insane, I know, but it's the truth."

"What about the treaty that you mentioned?" you asked, recalling the conversation that had occurred in your home. "What did that mean?"

"Right now, we have an agreement to not have our side attack theirs, and if Crowley attacked us it would have broken it," Dean explained. "We're pretty sure that war is inevitable, too, and Crowley knows it. That's why both of us are preparing, and trying to-"

"Recruit me, for whatever reason," you finished. You could feel a churning sensation in your stomach. This two men were out of their minds. What were you _thinking_ , joining them? Your eyes still felt hot as though you might start crying any moment, and you blinked rapidly.

 _Don't think of them. Not right now._

"I have to go," you said hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be - I can't… I'll just, I don't know, hitchhike or something, but I need to leave."

Thoughts were breezing through your mind on where to go, and you resolved to go to your grandmother's house; she lived in New York.

"Hang on!" Dean said quickly, standing up and holding up his hands as though surrendering. "I can give you proof that angels exist, at the very least."

You paused, turning around. "I don't know," you said, uncertain. "I just… don't think I should stay here longer. I'm sorry. Really."

You lingered for a moment to catch their eyes and then returned your hand to the doorknob to exit the motel room.

"Cas!" Dean suddenly said loudly, and you couldn't help but stop what you were doing to see what exactly he was saying.

"What?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

"He's calling a buddy of ours," Sam said simply.

A sudden whoosh of air behind you made you jump. You whipped around and found yourself face to face with a man who had not been there moments earlier, and let out a small sound of surprise, scrambling back against the wall.

"Hello, Dean," the man said in a deep voice. His gaze slid smoothly from Dean to your face, and you drew back out of fear when his blue eyes turned to you.

"You obtained the heredis," the man said, interest on his face.

"Her name's Y/N, Cas," Dean said, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Heredis?" you asked, still pressed against the wall.

"It means… we'll tell you later," Sam said, shooting you an apologetic look. "Give her some space, Cas. You're a bit intimidating, I think."

"My apologies," the man, Cas, responded, backing up obediently a step. You edged your way back to the bed you had been sitting on previously, more at comfort there than standing next to Cas.

Dean stood up. "So, uh, this is Cas. Short for Castiel."

"Castiel?" you asked, feeling dazed.

Castiel moved forward slightly, and you were able to take a better look at him. He was wearing a tan trench coat and white shirt, accommodated by a blue tie that hung loosely around his neck.

"I'm an angel," Cas said, an intent expression on his face. "In the past I served heaven and visited Earth sparingly, but ever since Sam and Dean stopped the apocalypse, we've been working together."

"We're friends," Dean summarized.

"Yes, friends," Cas replied, his words seemingly silly but accompanied with one of the most serious tones you have ever heard.

"You're an… angel?" you asked, your breath taken away slightly out of awe; yet there was no doubt in your mind because there seemed to be no other explanation for how this man _teleported_ into the motel room. "Do I… I mean, can I… shake your hand?" Silence followed your words and you felt rather stupid until Cas answered, "Of course," and held out a firm hand. You shook it, expecting to feel some sort of angelic power, but only felt the grip of a man's strong shake.

"This is not my true form. This is a vessel," Cas explained as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. "My real appearance would shatter your eardrums and melt your eyeballs."

"Oh," you said faintly, sitting back onto your bed. "Do you have wings?"

"Yes. They are not visible to human perception, however. Only the shadow of them can be perceived, and only when my grace is at its full power," Cas said, his tone remaining in the stoic octave.

"His grace is his mojo," Dean put in from the corner. "Y/N - we can't force you to stay with us. But, as you can see from the literal angel standing right there… we're not lying. And I know that we haven't told you anything yet, but once we're at the bunker tomorrow, we can explain much better."

You were about to answer when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You'd forgotten it was there, from where you'd put it after dialing Dean's number back in your house earlier. A quick glance at the screen told you that B/F/N had texted you.

 **are you okay? where are you?**

"Don't answer," Dean said, his voice steeled.

"Why not?" you demanded, your voice slightly higher than usual. "It's just my best friend! She must've heard what happened, and she's just asking if I'm okay-"

"She might be a trap," Dean cut in. "If Crowley wants you as badly as we think he does, then he's going to try to get you to either return home and leave us, or at least find out where you are by getting a text back from you."

You slowly lowered your phone, fighting the impulse to disobey and respond nevertheless. It felt like a punch to the gut, ignoring B/F/N.

"It might be more prudent to keep moving," Cas said, stepping forward. "You are still not far from where Y/N's home is. Crowley, or another demon, might still try to lure you back, or otherwise attack. We should continue to put distance between us and them."

"Uh, Cas doesn't sleep, because he's an angel," Sam said in an undertone to you. He cleared his throat and spoke a bit louder. "You're right, but we need to rest a bit. How about we get some sleep and discuss things in the morning? It's been a long day."

Cas looked at them perhaps a moment longer than necessary, then nodded. "I'll allow you to 'rest'", he proclaimed, and vanished with another whoosh of air. You watched, awestruck, secretly wanting Dean to call him again just so you could see the teleporting.

"Alright. Let's hit the hay," Dean said, throwing himself down onto the bed and positioning his arms behind his head.

You silently agreed with him, wanting nothing more than for the room to be submerged in darkness so that the brothers couldn't see the tears that _still_ wanted to come out. Fortunately, Sam shut off the lights a moment later, following his brother into bed. There was a brief minute in which you listened to them argue in the dark.

"Sam, _move_ , your legs are taking up the whole bed!"

"I'm not the one hogging the blankets!"

"Well, put the pillows in between us. I don't want to wake up with you snuggling me in your sleep."

"I don't snuggle in my sleep!"

"Yeah, you do. Remember that shifter hunt in Nevada? We only had a double bed that time, and I woke up with your head against my shoulder-"

"I woke up with your drool on my pillow! If you get any drool on me tonight, you're doing laundry for the next month."

There was a quiet rustle of movement as they shifted, clearly annoyed with the sleeping arrangements, and you spoke up then.

"When can I respond?" you asked suddenly. "To my friend? Or anyone? I need to tell my family - well, my grandparents and aunt and uncle - that I'm okay, and I need to email my teachers and collect my work…" The words were tumbling out of your mouth quickly.

"You're worried about homework?" Dean asked incredulously.

"No!" you said defensively, feeling your face get hot. "I don't know! It's just pretty much all I do in life, so it seems wrong to ignore it… but I guess you're right, I don't need to ask them." Your face was burning now and you wished that you hadn't opened your mouth.

"You can email them once we get back to the bunker," Sam said quickly. "There are fields and wards that protect the location, so it'll be safe then."

"Okay," you relented, leaning back on your pillow.

It didn't take long for both Sam and Dean's heavy breathing to fill the room. Only the sound of them sleeping and the whir of the mini fridge in the corner kept the penetrating silence out of the room.

 _I'm sleeping in a random motel with two stalkers that I don't even know._

The thought should have freaked you out, but instead all you felt was cold indifference to it.

 _My family is dead._

That was what scared you. Half of you felt that you should be panicking more, and that your reaction wasn't appropriate to the situation.

 _Shouldn't I be in emotional shock? Isn't that what it's like in the movies? Shouldn't I be on the floor, incapable of even responding to voices because I'm so lost in despair?_

But it was quite the contrary. You felt devoid of emotions. Was that wrong? Was it an insult to your family's memory?

 _Their lives just ended and all I'm worried about is if I'm responding properly._

You gripped tightly the woven bracelet that your siblings had made you two years ago on your birthday. According to them, it had taken three hours to do.

 _Three hours they'd never get back. But now they've lost seventy years they're never getting back. And it's my fault._

Your fault. Something told you that Sam and Dean would only say it was that demon Crowley's fault, if you broached it with them, but deep down you knew it was your fault.

 _If I wasn't so important in this stupid war they claim is about to happen. If I had just gone with Sam and Dean at school, they might not have died. If I hadn't been so selfish, they could still be alive._

 _I will never forgive myself._

The sudden squeal of the motel room door opening yanked you back into reality. You froze, pulling the covers up to your chin out of instinct.

It was probably just that angel, Castiel. Dean had said they were friends, right?

Something told you it wasn't the angel.

"Sam! Dean!" you hissed. They stirred, and Dean, who was laying facing you, opened an eye.

"Hm?" he asked sleepily.

You didn't have time to respond because whoever had come through the door was impossibly fast. It was a girl, you realized. A teenage girl with black curly hair. She materialized next to your bed within seconds and gripped your forearm tightly.

"Let's go. The king wants you," she said, her voice deep and throaty. Her strength was far greater than you could have expected and you were pulled right out of bed and onto the floor.

"You're not going anywhere," Dean said. He was upright already and holding a knife that you realized he must have been keeping under his pillow.

"You really think that you could slip in here and take her without us stopping you?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

The girl holding your arm tightly grimaced. "To be honest? No. But the king wants her badly. And I'm not stupid enough to defy orders," she added, sneering.

"Let her go," Dean said, nodding towards you, "and we'll let you leave. No one needs to get hurt."

"Can't do that. Crowley'll kill me no matter what if I don't bring her," the girl said. She pulled a knife with her free hand out and pressed it against your throat suddenly. "Drop your knife."

There was hesitation in Dean's face.

"I said drop it!"

He didn't drop it. "You're not going to kill her. Crowley needs her," Dean said slowly, keeping his knife up.

"No, but I'll hurt her," the girl said, and swiftly lowered the knife to your arm, slashing quickly. For a brief moment, you thought that she had missed, but then a blazing hot flare across your forearm indicated otherwise. Ruby red blood began to flow out like a faucet, warm and sticky against your skin. You bit your lip to keep from gasping.

"That's enough of that, bitch," Dean said, and with a sudden graceful twitch of his arm he had thrown the knife like a dart at the girl holding you. The blade embedded itself directly in her heart, and she gasped, flickering oddly as though there was a dying bulb inside of her. With a final exhale she collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

You leapt away from the dead girl and looked at Sam and Dean fearfully.

"But… you just threw that at her heart…" you said faintly. "She's… dead."

"As a doornail," Dean confirmed.

"She was a demon," Sam assured you. "We don't kill people on a whim." He moved over to you and gently lifted your arm up. "That's deep," he noted. "I'll bandage it for you."

You nodded and sat on the bed. Sam took out an antibiotic solution and rinsed the cut gently, his fingers strong but nimble.

You felt slightly awkward, because you could have cleaned the wound on your own, but it was somehow cheering knowing that Sam could be exceedingly gentle.

 _Even if he does end up being a psychopath, at least he doesn't seem very violent._

"We should pack up and leave," Dean said gruffly, throwing his flannel he'd worn earlier into his olive duffel bag. Sam finished rinsing your wound and carefully wrapped it in gauze.

"Yeah. You good to drive with an hour of sleep?" Sam asked his brother. Dean gave him a look that clearly read, _Of course I'm fine._

Something about how the two brothers interacted fascinated you. They seemed so at ease around each other, and you had no doubt that they'd take a bullet for the other. The simple movements, the gestures, the expressions, the unsaid words - their bond as brothers was stronger than any you'd ever seen before. You were forcefully reminded of your relationship with your own siblings and you shoved that thought down immediately, before it could become a lump in your throat.

"Were you able to get any sleep?" Sam asked. It took you a moment to realize he was talking to you.

"Oh. Um, not really, but I'm fine," you said quickly. "Are we going to keep going to your… bunker?"

"Yeah. Cas was right. We should've kept going," Dean said, glancing out the window. "If that demon found us, then more definitely will. Let's head out of here."

 _This might seem messy so far, but I've got a plan (I think)._  
 _I'd be so grateful for any reviews! Thanks so much!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry if this chapter sounds awkward. I figured that I would be awkward, if I met Sam and Dean and went to their bunker, so some of that filtered through._

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural._

"What'll you have, sweetie?"

It took you a moment to realize the waitress was talking to you, and looking down at your menu quickly, you ordered a cheap sandwich, already guilty about the fact that Sam and Dean had paid for your breakfast and lunch.

You'd been on the road all day, and it was now nearing eight at night. Sam and Dean had been alternating between sleeping and driving the whole time; Dean would drive for five hours while Sam slept, and then they'd switch. You felt absolutely useless sitting in the backseat and wished you had your license so that you could take over, but then again, you didn't dare drive the car since Dean seemed to care deeply about it, based on what you'd seen.

"We'll probably be at the bunker by midnight," Dean said after swallowing a bite of his burger. "Not too much longer."  
You nodded, anxious to arrive. Not only was the car beginning to make your legs feel extremely sore, but you were desperate to have alone time.

You chewed your sandwich thoughtfully, thinking about the angel that had come the previous night at the motel in Pennsylvania.

"Why don't you just have that angel teleport us there?" you asked.

Dean looked scandalized. "What, and leave Baby behind?"

"The car," Sam explained to you.

Aha. So Dean _did_ care deeply about his car.

There was a brief moment of silence in which you all ate your meals quietly, utensils clinking against the plates.

"So… Y/N… what do you like to do for fun?" Sam asked, and it was clear that it was a conversation filler, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

"Um… I spend most of my time doing homework," you confess. "But I'm also on the track team… and I write a bit… what about you guys?"

Dean fished money out of his wallet and put a couple of bills down on the table. Sam looked at his brother, as though expecting him to answer.

"Last night we told you that we hunt monsters for a living," Dean said. "That's our idea of fun."

"Can I see?" you blurted without thinking. "I mean - can I see the monsters? How do you kill them?"

"No," Dean said flatly.

"No?"  
"No, you're not going anywhere near them. They're dangerous. And I'm not going to bring you on a hunt when you've clearly never done anything like that before."

"Don't you need me for this war, though?" you asked testily. "Won't I have to learn how to fight anyway?"

"It's different. We need you for a different part of this war," Sam said. "Remember yesterday when Cas called you the heredis?"

You nodded.

"Well, you're supposedly the heir of someone important. I can't say here," Sam continued, glancing around the diner. "But you've got something crucial for the war."

They were beginning to get on your nerves with the whole secrecy front, but you ignored your curiosity and fell silent.

"As soon as this is over - and we're hoping that it won't be longer than a month - you can return home."

"Home?" you said, anger creeping into your voice. "My family was my home. And thanks to your dumb war, they're gone." The more you spoke the more you could feel heat rising in your voice.

Sam began to say something, but you cut him off.

"It's not fair!" you said, and any other point in your life you would have been timid to use this tone of voice with two people you hardly knew, but not one bit of you cared. "You knew that you were dragging me into this! Why didn't you protect my family, then, if you knew this bad guy wanted me so badly? Why didn't you come _prepared_?"

You threw your words at them as hard as you could, and was pleased to see that both Sam and Dean looked immensely guilty.

"But you couldn't tell me any of that in school, no! You let me think that it was some unimportant thing, then let me go home when you knew perfectly well that this Crowley was after me! And now you're talking about how I'm this heredis, or whatever, but you don't even have the decency to just _tell_ me what's going on-"

"Keep your voice down," Sam urged, and against your will to keep going you stopped talking, angrily wiping away the hot tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. "We really are sorry, Y/N, and I know that's not what you feel like hearing right now, but this war is going to kill so many other families."

His voice lingered with you and you took a deep breath.

 _Calm down. Stop acting like a two year old._

"I'm sorry," you said, shaking your head. "I just feel like I need to blame someone. Other than Crowley, I mean - I'm just so _angry_ , I guess, because this all seems so unfair - but it's not your fault," you added quickly. "If you guys hadn't shown up, I might be dead, or with that demon."

Sam and Dean still looked chagrined.

"Now _I_ feel bad!" you blurted. "I'm so sorry! I never speak like that to strangers, let alone adults, and I shouldn't have blamed you - I take it back, I wasn't thinking-"

You were interrupted by Dean, who was mercifully smiling. "It's fine," he said. "You have a right to be mad at us."

"I'm not mad at you!" you said quickly, an edge of panic in your voice.

"But I still think we should make it up to you. Let's get back to the bunker."

* * *

The bunker, as it turned out, was a secret base. Well, at least it felt like one - tunnel-like halls, all sorts of gadgets and dashboards, and rooms so numerous that you were sure you would have gotten lost without Sam and Dean telling you where to go.

"You can stay in here," Sam said, pushing open a door to a small, square, cement room. There was a small window in the corner for ventilation. He handed you a stack of clothes. "You probably don't want to be in your old clothes any longer."

"Thanks," you said, taken aback and pleased.

"They'll be big on you, but they're better than sleeping in dried blood. And, there are extra blankets in the closet if you need them…" Sam scratched the back of his head. "I think that's it. Do you need water, or anything else?"

You shook your head.

"And, uh, you can text your friend now. There's a field around the bunker, so your messages can't be traced. If you don't mind, though, please don't say where you are." He smiled awkwardly. "Breakfast is at seven-thirty."

Sam left, leaving you in the bedroom. You shut the door slowly and sit down on your bed. You're exhausted; you haven't slept in about forty hours.

You opened up your phone to see that you had several more texts from B/F/N.

 **Everyone's freaking out, please just tell me if you're okay!**

 **Y/N where are you?**

 **I've been calling everyone, trying to find you… I miss you, Y/N, just please let me know if you're okay**

You contemplated your phone for nearly ten minutes before deciding on a response.

 **I'm okay. I promise.**

Your phone vibrated with a response hardly two seconds later:

 **Where are you?**

You sent your answer carefully.

 **I'm with two family friends. I'm going to be with them for a while… I won't be coming back home for a couple weeks**

You closed your phone after that because your eyes were burning again. The thought of B/F/N made your stomach hurt; you missed home and your family so much. The bed you were sitting on was surprisingly comfortable and you crawled under the blankets after changing into the sweats and tee Sam had provided you with. You supposed they were Dean's, since Dean was shorter, but they still hung on you. The bunker seemed well-insulated and it blocked out most of the noise adequately; almost too much - the silence was ringing in your ears. You had a Spotify playlist on your phone, but after opening it you realized that you didn't know the wifi password to this strange cave of a place, so instead you put your phone away, and fell asleep as soon as your head landed on your pillow.


	6. Chapter 6

_A dialogue-ish chapter. Next chapter will be more fun, I promise._

"Alright. You need to tell me why I'm here," you said the next morning, buttering your toast a bit more vigorously than necessary.

Sam and Dean looked up from their position at the end of the table in the bunker. Sam was on his laptop, his eyes a bit red like he'd been staring at it for too long. Dean was reading a magazine that had women in bikinis on it; quickly, you averted your eyes, feeling uncomfortable.

"Okay. So, uh… let me just warn you - this is going to sound bizarre. Just like when we said monsters are real. But we're not lying," Dean said, folding his magazine down. You stood still, arms crossed in front of you. "You ever read _Percy Jackson_?"

"Yeah," you said slowly.

Dean looked relieved. "Okay, good. I haven't read them, but-"

"I have and I think this will all make a lot more sense since you've read them," Sam interrupted.

"You're the child of the god of time. A demi-god of time, basically." Dean said, his voice level yet his words seemingly bizarre. You narrowed your eyes.

"My dad was an accountant," you said, rolling your eyes. "He's not the _god of time_ -"

Sam sighed. "Your parents… they never told you that you were adopted?"  
Your stomach dropped into your shoes. "What?"

"Shit. Of course they didn't," Dean said, his voice more tired than you'd heard yet. "Well, congratulations, kid. You, the only child of Kronos - the Greek god of time - were adopted."

You shook your head. "Wow. I never knew."

Sam and Dean watched you warily. "Are you okay?" Sam finally asked.

You actually smiled, which made the brothers look at each other with a look of surprise.

"I'm fine," you said. "They died two days ago. I couldn't care less if I was adopted. It really doesn't mean anything now. Sure, three days ago I would have cared, but now…" you trailed off. "And by now I believe you, no matter how much it's against my will. So Kronos? You're… sure you're not joking?"

"I wish we were," Sam said. "He's, um, dead now… so you're the last descendant of time."

You frowned. "How does Kronos _die_? I mean, up until today, I believed in God - but not the _Greek gods_. What even happened? How do you know?"

Sam and Dean exchanged another furtive look. Man, they did that _a lot._

"It was kind of our fault," Dean began. "He was killing innocent people. And we ganked him."  
"Ganked?" you echoed.

"Killed," Sam said quickly.

There was a moment in which only the hum of the bunker broke the silence.

"Then what is the point of me being here?" you asked finally. "I'm a child of Kronos and my mom and dad weren't actually my mom and dad. Probably the most news I've ever gotten in my life. So why am I here?"

"Have you ever frozen time? Gone to the future? The past?" Dean asked so seriously that you almost laughed.

"No!" you said, taken aback. "Why would I? _How_ would I?"

Sam frowned. "You're supposed to be able to do something with time. You _are_ a demigod. Maybe the ability just hasn't revealed itself yet. You're sure you've never done any of those?"

"I think I'd know if I froze time," you said, your voice creeping towards hysterical.

"Want to try?" Dean asked, his expression pensive.

"Try?" you repeated. "How?"  
Dean shrugged. "I'm not the child of time. Just, like, focus. Or something."

You looked at him incredulously. "There's no way that I can!"

"Just try," Dean insisted. You threw him another look and concentrated.

 _Okay, time. Now… freeze!_

Nothing happened. Just like you expected.

"It's not working," you said after only ten seconds of trying. Sam and Dean looked disappointed.

"You should practice trying," Dean suggested. "Because if you were able to learn how to do it, I mean - that would be great."

"I'll practice if you take me along to one of your killing sprees and show me a monster," you said stubbornly. Dean opened his mouth to speak but Sam cut him off.

"Deal. But you'd have to genuinely try each day, even if nothing happens," he said.

"Sam, we're not taking her on a hunt! She's fifteen!" Dean said angrily.

"Sixteen! I just haven't gotten my license yet-" you added helpfully, but neither brother noticed.

"Just one, Dean! So she can see that we're telling the truth! And we can show her how to use a gun, because living with us kind of warrants that! And then we can hold her to her word so that she can help us win this war-"

"Fine!" Dean finally said loudly. "But only a simple salt and burn. No vamps, no rougarous, no ijiraqs, no demons!"

You listened in rapt interest, slightly miffed by how they spoke as though you weren't there.

"I wouldn't advise that."

A deep voice behind you made you jump, and you whirled around to see Cas, the angel you had met the previous day.

"Castiel," you said, stumbling over your words slightly. "Hi! I mean, uh, hello? Um, I'm sorry. I'll just, uh-" You moved back, taking a seat in the chair and trying to not stare.

 _An angel of the Lord! Standing in front of me again!_

Cas looked at you, his blue eyes unmoving and analytical, then turned to Sam and Dean.

"You should keep her safe. We cannot risk her getting killed."  
Sam scratched the back of his head, looking awkward. "Well, yeah, obviously we're going to keep her safe."

"Then you should not take her on a hunt," Cas said firmly. "We're depending on her. If she dies, we're losing our best weapon we have. My time manipulation is miniscule compared to the extent that hers is, and Hell will surely win if you-"

"You can manipulate time?" you interrupted and three pairs of eyes flipped over to you, making your cheeks flush. "Sorry. I just was wondering, then, why you need me if you can…?"  
"Cas's time manipulation isn't nearly as reliable, and other angels, demons, and objects can penetrate it," Sam explained. "If you learned to freeze time, though, nothing would be able to stop it."

You mouthed a small "oh" and went quiet again. Dean fingered the edge of the table.

"Yeah, but we're not going to throw her in the line of fire, Cas. It'd be good for her to get out of the bunker and see a bit of what goes bump in the night before we drag her into the middle of a demonic war."

Cas tilted his head. "Moments ago you were arguing against her joining you. Now you want her to come? I am confused."

His words were so simple, so naive, that you wanted to smile, but didn't.

"Well, now that you're saying 'no', I want to take her with us," Dean grumbled.

"You are being immature. It is not logical for you to take your most important weapon on a simple hunt."

"She needs the practice! We need her to trust us!"  
"We also need her alive."

"How about we ask her?" Sam said suddenly. "Y/N? What do you think?"

You suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable. "I… I kind of wanted to go. But if Castiel says that… I mean, if the angel of the Lord says that I shouldn't, then…"

"Two things," Dean said. "You can just call him Cas - because he's not going to smite you, I promise - and if you want to go, then that's final."

"Dean-" Cas began to protest, but Sam vocalized his agreement, and he stopped short. "So be it. But please, Dean-" He stepped closer, tilting his head again intently. "Please be careful. Do not let the heredis die." With that, he vanished.

"Sorry about that," Sam said. "He's calling you the heredis because that's apparently the term the angels are using. If he gets to know you, I'm sure he'll start treating you more…"  
"Like a person," Dean finished. "He's not that great with humans."

You shrugged. "That's okay. I don't mind. So… when are we going?"

Sam opened his laptop again. "Give me a half an hour, and I'll find us a hunt."

 _I'd be grateful for any reviews! Thanks so much for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Next part. This one is a bit longer, but it's your first hunt with Sam and Dean – I couldn't skimp on details!_

 _Enjoy!_

You, Sam, and Dean drove into Broken Bow, Nebraska around noon the next day. It hadn't been that long of a drive but Dean had spent much of the morning showing you how to shoot and reload a simple shotgun. You weren't the best aim ever, but you supposed it was a skill that came with practice.

Sam and Dean had told you that you were going on a "salt and burn", and apparently this meant you'd be finding the corpse of a ghost haunting the local high school and burning it. In, out, done. At least, that's what they made it sound like. They still seemed wary to bring you, even though they were they ones that chose to take you along, and you felt a bit guilty as well - Sam and Dean had a deep bond and you didn't want to intrude on to what Sam referred to as "the family business".

Dean parked the car in the lot of a motel similar to the one you had stayed at on your way to the bunker. You stepped out of the Impala, grabbing the small duffel bag of clothing and toiletries that Sam and you had gone out and gotten, and followed the brothers into the motel, where they booked a room with two beds and a cot.

"Alright, so here's the drill," Dean said, setting his bag down on the dresser. You hastily took the cot so that neither brother would offer for you to take the bed. "We need to figure out who exactly died so that we can burn their corpse. Sam and I will go in and talk to the principal to see if we can figure anything out. You're going to be the new student at Broken Bow High tomorrow."

You widened your eyes. "Really? I get to be undercover?"  
"Well, I guess so," Sam said, a small smile on his face. "We haven't filled out the paperwork but I bet they'll let you attend for the day. It's a small town; people aren't as rigid about the rules. And I emailed the school, posing as your aunt, letting them know that you'd be going."

You nodded slowly. "I can tell them that my parents just died and I'm transferring, but my aunt hasn't had a chance to register me because of the funeral arrangements that have been going on. Or something along those lines."

"That will work," Dean agreed. "We're going to be posing as FBI agents."

"Like when you came to my school," you snorted. "It was pretty convincing, though."

"Yeah… sorry about that," Sam said awkwardly. "We should have been honest from the beginning, but it seemed easier at the time to…"

"It's fine!" you said hurriedly. "I don't care. Really."

"Here," Dean said, tossing you a gun from his bag. You caught it gingerly, immediately turning the barrel to the floor, but Dean laughed. "It's not loaded, kid. I wouldn't throw you a loaded gun. But it's yours. Sam and I never use it."

The gun was heavy and sleek. You felt a small bit of pride in your chest, feeling a bit more reassured that perhaps Sam and Dean liked you. "Thanks," you said, genuinely touched.

"We're going to load it with rock salt. Salt is what hurts ghosts, not bullets," Sam told you, flopping onto the squeaky motel bed.

"How do you know it's a ghost in the school?" you asked. "What if it's some other monster?"

"It could be," Sam acknowledged. "But the pattern of what type of people are going missing, and the reports of the school having terrible plumbing, electricity, and insulation makes me think it's a ghost. It's good to go into it with an open mind, though, because you never know exactly what to expect in a hunt."

* * *

Later, when the lights were off and the television off, when Sam and Dean's heavy breathing filled the air along with the sounds of music coming from the room next to them, you focused on what you were supposed to be practicing.

 _I can freeze time. Yeah, right._

But the thought of Crowley and Cas made you feel that everything Sam and Dean said was truthful. You closed your eyes, willing time to stop.

Of course, nothing happened. The music continued to play in the next room.

 _What did you expect, Y/N?_ you asked yourself. _Don't be stupid._

That didn't stop you from continuing to try. Because what if? What if you could do it?

 _Concentrate. And… freeze!_

The music didn't stop playing, and Sam and Dean's breaths didn't cease to fill the air.

* * *

You were up before the brothers, and you took the chance to slip quietly in the bathroom, shower, brush your hair, and get dressed. When you emerged, your new clothes fitting comfortably and your hair dripping onto your back, Sam was rousing and making himself coffee, and Dean was still asleep.

"You nervous?" Sam asked, offering you a granola bar for breakfast. You accepted it, sitting across from him at the small motel table.

"A bit," you admitted. "But it's only boys who have gone missing, right? So I'll be fine?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. Five boys in the span of five months. There's a possibility they could still be alive, too," he added as a hopeful afterthought.

You finished your granola bar, wiping the crumbs off of your shirt. "I'm not… bring the gun to school, right?" you asked doubtfully.

Sam paused as though considering. "No. We'll come back at night if we need to. All you need to do is try to find out who died, and how - that way we're more prepared. Dean and I will do the same. It's always best to go into a hunt with as much information as possible."

You absorbed the information as Dean got up, grumbling that it was too early, and at seven you picked up the backpack that Sam had picked up for you at a thrift store. The school was three blocks away, so you'd be walking.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," you said, laughing slightly as you walked out the door. "A week ago, if someone had told me I'd be posing as a new student in order to kill a ghost, I'd probably have told them they were off their rocker."

"Everyone gets into hunting somehow," Dean said, grinning. The comment made you glow inside; previously, they hadn't wanted you to even see them go hunting, and now it was like they were inducting you into the business.

"So… I'll see you later," you said, shrugging the backpack on and walking out the door.

It was relatively warm out, and the warmth of sunshine on your back was pleasant as you walked down the sidewalk and towards the massive brick building that hundreds of kids were streaming into.

 _That_ was when the nerves kicked in. You suddenly could feel your stomach churning, and you cursed yourself for getting into such a weird situation - you could be living with your extended family right now, mourning your siblings and parents, yet here you were out with two men _ghost hunting_ -

 _Maybe that's why I'm doing it,_ you thought to yourself. _Because I'm avoiding thinking about them_.

Well, it was working. You gritted your teeth and joined the crowd of kids entering the school.

* * *

"Hello," you said, your voice a bit too quiet out of nerves. You forced a smile to the office lady. "I'm Y/N. My aunt should have emailed you yesterday? I'm new."

You had given her your first name but the fake last name that Sam and Dean had agreed upon. No doubt the police were looking for you.

The office lady typed into her computer. "Yes, I received the email. Do you have your course registration work?"

You swallowed. "Well… my aunt was busy arranging… my parents just, um, died in a car crash. And we didn't have time to fill out the paperwork but I wanted to start. Is it okay if I get the paperwork to you after the weekend?"

The office lady frowned. "It's policy that new students turn in registration documents before attending."

 _Dang. She's a stickler._

You could feel your heart jumping out of your throat but you tried to keep calm.

"I could just follow another student around," you offered. "I'm really sorry about the paperwork. I can even try to get it to you by tomorrow morning… but my aunt is at work and there's no one here to bring me back home…"

A look of irritation crossed the secretary's face, and she conceded. "Bring your paperwork tomorrow. Go to room 114 and join Mr. Tucker's class. But I am warning you now that if you aren't registered by tomorrow, I can't allow you to attend this school."

"Yes, ma'am," you said as politely as possible.

"What's your name again? I'll write you a pass and a note to Mr. Tucker."

You repeated your alias to her and she scribbled out a note then handed it to you. You scampered out of the office, your cheeks burning. The hallways were about clear by now and you cringed at the thought of having to walk into this Mr. Tucker's room last; everyone would inevitably be looking at you.

Sure enough, you walked in uneasily, and everyone's heads snapped to you.

"Hello," you said to Mr. Tucker. "I'm new… and the secretary gave me this note to give to you…" You trailed off, scanning the classroom quickly to see who would be most suitable to sit next to.

Fortunately, Mr. Tucker relieved you of making that choice. "You can sit next to Cordelia," he said, pointing to a girl with bushy auburn hair. "Cordelia, can you bring Y/N around the school today and show her the ropes?"

"Of course," Cordelia said, smiling widely at you, and you were relieved to see that she seemed outgoing - that would make this day much easier. "Where are you from?"

Sam and Dean hadn't told you to lie about where you were from, so you told her.

"Oh, wow! Nice to meet you," Cordelia said warmly.

She was a bit overbearing, and you felt a bit suffocated by the sappy friendliness she displayed, but at the same time it was comforting. The bell rang for the first class to start, and Cordelia stayed in Mr. Tucker's room for U.S. History, so you stayed in there as well with her. The unit was something you'd already covered at your school back at home, but that was only a relief, because you didn't feel like listening intently at the moment.

"What brings you to Broken Bow?" Cordelia asked once Mr. Tucker had finished talking and had given them work to complete for the rest of the class.

"I moved in with my aunt," you told her, twirling your pencil in your fingers.

"Oh, really? Why?"

"Um… well, my parents got in a car crash, so…" You didn't finish speaking, suddenly despising yourself for saying it.

 _Great icebreaker, Y/N,_ you criticized yourself internally, because Cordelia's hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" she said, looking mortified.

"No, it's fine! Really," you assured her. You thought desperately for a subject changer. "So I heard people have been going missing from here? What's been happening?"

"No one knows," Cordelia said, shaking her head. "One day they were here and the next day they weren't. A ton of parents have pulled their kids out of school, actually. Everyone's terrified it's going to happen to them."

"Less talking, more working, girls," Mr. Tucker called over to you, and Cordelia's jaw snapped shut quicker than a mousetrap. You also fell silent, and the sound of scratching pencils against paper resumed.

* * *

"You probably want to avoid the pizza," Cordelia advised when you entered the cafeteria. "It tastes like rubber with cheese slapped on top."

"Is the wrap bar any good?" you asked, looking at the line of kids.

Cordelia shrugged. "I would just get the hot lunch. It's a really long line, usually takes ten minutes. Besides, they have the mashed potato bowl today. It's really good."

You heeded her advice and grabbed the food, paying at the register with the five dollar bill that you had fortunately slipped in your pocket that morning. Cordelia walked with you to a table with two other girls; Paris and Ava.

"This is Y/N. She's new," Cordelia told her friends who were looking at you with confusion. Their faces cleared and it was quick to tell that they had the same type of personality as Cordelia because both of them greeted you with a fervor you could only imagine reciprocating.

"Did you hear about what's happening today?" Ava said suddenly in a low voice. "The FBI are looking into the disappearances."

You fought to keep from smiling and instead plastered a bewildered expression on your face.

"What? Really?" Cordelia asked, excitement in her voice. "Like, real FBI agents?"

"Yeah. I saw them in the hallway. They're really attractive," Paris said in an even quieter voice. She looked around to see if anyone was listening. "One of them has swishy hair. The other is handsome in a really cute tough-guy way."

"How old are they?" Cordelia asked, giggling. "Like, forty?"  
"No! I think they're in their twenties!" Ava said forcefully, laughing even harder. She suddenly widened her eyes. "Okay, don't look now, but they're behind you."

You felt your heart pump quicker, attempting to maintain the appropriate expression for the conversation. Ava suddenly gestured for you to look, and you turned around with Cordelia to see Sam and Dean talking to one of the staff members. They were showing their badges to her, which apparently made Cordelia, Ava, and Paris giggle only harder. You forced yourself to giggle as well, feeling extremely embarrassed as you did so. Sam suddenly glanced your way and made eye contact with you, and you could see him suppressing a smile as he turned back to the staff member to ask her a question.

"He looked at us!" Ava exclaimed, her face turning red. She suddenly froze. "Oh my God. They're coming closer."

"They're not coming to us," Cordelia reasoned. "Wait. Oh my God. They're… they're coming here! Oh my God!" She began to impulsively straighten her hair with her hands. You looked down at your milk, stifling a laugh.

"Hello," Dean said, his voice flat and unyielding. "We're conducting a little investigation, nothing to worry about. We have a few questions about Thomas Drawman, the student that went missing a week ago." He turned to you, stone-faced, and you couldn't help but laugh.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You think this is funny, miss?" he asked seriously. Sam turned away slightly and you were sure that he was hiding a smile.

"No, sir," you said, choking down the laugh.

"Good. Did any of you know Thomas?" Sam asked, turning back to you now that he had adopted a serious expression as well.

Cordelia raised a shaking hand. "I did. I was friends with him."

"Did he have any enemies that you're aware of? Anyone that would want revenge on him?" Dean questioned, gesticulating.

"No, no… he was - he was the class athlete, you know… really, uh, really good at soccer - and track, yeah… everyone loved him," Cordelia said, stumbling over her words.

Sam tapped their lunch table with his pencil. "Let us know if you find out anything, all right?" They cast another look at you - Dean winked - and then they left to talk to another teacher.

"Oh no," Cordelia whispered as they left. "I…"  
"What?" you urged, sensing her discomfort.

"I lied," she said in a low voice. "Isn't that a federal offense or something?"

"You _lied_?" Ava said, shock evident on her face. "Why?"

"I… can't say," she said. "Never mind. Forget it." Her face was clearing except for the pink in her cheeks.

"Cordelia, what is it?" you persisted. "Come on, you can't not tell us!"

Cordelia looked at us with watering eyes and opened her mouth.

* * *

"Hey. How was school?" Dean asked when you got back to the motel.

You shoved your backpack onto the counter. "Um, I got lots of homework."  
"Good thing you don't have to do it," Dean reasoned. "Sam and I got diddly squat today. You find anything?"

"Actually, yeah," you said, already pleased that you would be of some help to them. "So apparently there's this girl who was suspended this entire school year because of some things she did."

"What things?" Dean interrupted.

You shrugged. "I'm not sure. I didn't find that part out. Anyway, she's been suspended this whole year. She's a year old than me, and tried to get with some of the guys in my grade."

"Get with - as in, date, kiss, hold hands, the whole shebang?" Dean clarified.

"Yeah. But none of them agreed, obviously. The thing is, every guy that she tried to hook up with is now missing. That's the connection between them," you said, feeling increasingly proud of yourself for having discovered such a monumental clue to the hunt.

"Wow. Nice job, Y/N," Sam said. "What's her name? The girl?"

"Uh…" you said, stalling. "Amanda. It's, um, the sister of the girl I was sitting with at lunch. She told me not to tell anyone."

"Well, let's go have a chat with Amanda, then," Dean said, picking up his FBI badge and stowing it in his suit. "Let's go, Sam."

"I have to stay here, then?" you asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sorry. It's a stretch getting people to believe that we're the FBI sometimes."

Yeah, that made sense. You looked way too young.

"Alright. Good luck," you said, sitting down on the bed and waving as they walked out the door.

* * *

It was nearing eight at night when Sam and Dean returned. You were grateful to smell a pizza when they came in; there hadn't been any food in the motel room and you didn't have any money to use the vending machine.

"Thank you," you said, sitting down in your pajamas with a slice of pizza. "For, uh, bringing this."

"So get this," Sam said, loosening his tie and pulling it off. "Amanda has binded a ghost with dark hoodoo to kill the missing boys for her."

You felt your jaw drift open slightly. "So the missing boys are dead?"

"As a doornail," Dean confirmed. He saw your expression and backpedaled. "It sucks, I know. Believe me, Sam and I know. But that's why we're here. We're going to stop the deaths," he said in a more gentle voice. "That's what we do."

"Okay," you said, unsure of how to respond but only slightly reassured. "So, what next?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"What?" you urged.

"Well," Sam said, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "What we also do in our job… we have to get rid of the people killing others."

"Oh," you said in a small voice. "So you're going to kill Amanda?"

"Yeah," Dean admitted.

Poor Cordelia, was your first thought.

"Am I coming?" you asked.

"You probably don't want to see us kill a girl, even if she's using witchcraft," Dean began, before you rephrased.

"Can I come?"

Sam stared. "You want to?" he said incredulously.

You blushed. "I don't want to see you kill a girl! I just-" You couldn't finish your sentence, it would be too awkward.

"Just what?"

"Nothing," you said quickly. "I just…" You looked at your feet, wishing you hadn't opened your mouth.

"What is it, Y/N?" Sam asked more softly.

Your words came out in a rush, and to be honest, you weren't sure why you were being so blunt with them. "I just want you guys to, you know,like me - I guess? Since you have to be stuck with me so that you can use my time freezing or whatever - which isn't working, by the way, so I thought I'd be more helpful, since I'm kind of useless and I'm also intruding upon your brotherly relationship or whatever. I mean, I'm sorry, I just don't want to be annoying-"  
"We're the ones forcing you to be with us," Dean interrupted. "You don't have to worry about intruding or whatever. Besides, you're pretty cool for a kid. So far, anyway."

"Believe us, we'd probably have you in the bunker still and not on a hunt if we didn't like you," Sam said, his mouth turned up at the edges.

You took a deep breath. "Okay. Sorry I'm… so awkward." You cringed at your words as soon as they were out but there was no taking them back. Sam gave you an amused look.

"Believe me, we've seen weirder," he promised, and you had a distinct feeling that he wasn't lying.

* * *

"You're picking the lock?" you asked, dumbfounded, when you, Sam, and Dean were standing outside Cordelia and Amanda's house at one in the morning.

"How else do you think we'll get in?" Dean asked, but he showed you how he picked the lock as he did it, and you couldn't help but smile at the older-brother type of feeling he gave off.

Once you were inside, it was almost too easy to creep upstairs and to Amanda's bedroom. She was in her bed, asleep. Suddenly you had a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Oh God," you whispered. "You're going to kill her." You felt a bit faint looking at her; you weren't a killer, for God's sake! Yet here you were, standing with two men you hardly knew as they prepared to kill this girl.

Sam looked at you. "You can wait in the car," he urged. "This isn't something you'll want to see."

But you shook your head, feeling stubborn. "I can handle it," you whispered.

Amanda suddenly stirred, opening her eyes groggily, and then they flew open as she saw three people standing in her bedroom. You couldn't blame her, and you were feeling close to bailing on Sam and Dean when all of the sudden Amanda began to whisper something in a foreign language.

Following her words, you could feel your throat seizing up, as though an invisible force had sealed it shut. You coughed, immediately feeling your heart pound in panic, and Sam whirled around.

"Get her, Dean!" he shouted - apparently being quiet wasn't part of the plan anymore - and you fell to your knees, choking violently.

But Dean didn't move, and one glance up told you that he was choking as well. That's when Sam also began to convulse, gripping his throat. Amanda was backed against the wall, looking a bit terrified but also more deadly now than innocent.

She was opening the window.

Escaping.

Sam was gasping next to Dean, trying to save his brother, despite his own failing breaths. White spots danced in front of your eyes and you groped blindly for the shotgun. Footsteps were resounding behind you, and you vaguely heard Cordelia's scream of fear. The shotgun fumbled in your hands and you shot towards the blur that was Amanda.

It was as though in slow motion. The gun went off; you could feel the bullet flying out of it at warp speed. With a sickening _squip_ it landed directly in Amanda's forehead, and two seconds later your throat cleared. You gulped for air greedily, falling to the floor and clutching at your throat. Sam and Dean were doing the same, and they looked at you with impressed shock in their eyes.

* * *

"I killed a girl."

Sam glanced at you in the backseat. "If it makes you feel any better, we've all been there," he said.

It didn't help at all. You felt like there was an anchor in your stomach that was putting pressure on your chest and heart and the memory of pulling the trigger was frozen in your memory.

"I killed a girl," you repeated.

"Yeah, you did kill a girl. But she was witchy and doing dark hoodoo. She'd already killed five boys," Dean reminded you. "You did good, Y/N. Really good."

You stared out the window of the Impala. Raindrops were collecting and it was dark; every so often you'd pass a streetlight and the drops would glow yellow before plunging into blackness again.

 _To be continued!_

 _I'd be ever so grateful if anyone could drop a review!_

 _Thank you so much for reading :)_


	8. Chapter 8

_I want to apologize in advance for this chapter. I pounded it out during school, so I didn't really read it over or spend much time dwelling on my words. It probably won't be written well, but hopefully it's still okay._

The next few weeks were a blur.

Life with Sam and Dean, you soon discovered, was very different from life at home. For one, everything was so informal. A month ago, you had a curfew, grades to maintain, chores to complete around the house, extracurricular obligations. Dinner was always at five sharp and homework was to be completed by nine. No electronics after eight.

Now, if you wanted to eat dinner in bed at seven, then you ate dinner in bed at seven. If you felt like spending the entire day watching Netflix and reading, you did that. You'd wake up whenever you wanted, and though Sam and Dean had originally wanted to take you on only one hunt, somehow you'd convinced them to take you along on several more. Though you weren't much use in the fighting department, you shot a shifter with a silver bullet the other day and you were quite proud of it.

Shooting a gun and researching seemed to be what you were useful for; after spending much time at the bunker doing target practice, your aim wasn't completely horrible. Dean had spent a lot of time showing you techniques for shooting a gun. He'd also tried to teach you combat, but apparently your punches were too weak.

Sam too had helped you with using a knife (there were eleven ways to kill a monster with a knife, according to him) and he also showed you how to hack websites and credit cards. That made you slightly uncomfortable, but once you realized it was how Sam and Dean were providing food you didn't say anything.

Come to think of it, you felt a bit like an apprentice. Like a warrior who was pathetic at knowing how to win the war.

Well, you weren't far off.

There wasn't any more homework (which you still hadn't quite gotten over; you felt like you should be doing work).

In fact, you were getting so accustomed to the fact that you were a high school dropout that when Sam suggested enrolling you in the local Lebanon high school, you choked on your cereal.

"Back to school," you repeated, dumbstruck. "But I thought that we were in a war…?"  
"Not yet," Sam said grimly. "You don't have to, of course, but I thought that you might still want to graduate high school since it's our fault you don't attend your regular school anymore-"

"I probably should," you sighed. "It's not going to be easy to get into college once all of this is over."

Sam looked like he wanted to say something but instead he smiled. "We can enroll you tomorrow."

Well, so much for not having homework and doing whatever you want, whenever you want.

You got up, closing your laptop and resigning yourself to the fact that you wouldn't have as much free time. "Want me to make dinner?" you offered, stretching widely.

"Hey, that'd be great," Sam replied, lighting up. "Spaghetti?"

"Sure," you agreed, making your way to the kitchen. You'd grown accustomed to making dinner a couple nights a week; you, Sam, and Dean took turns. Dean's cooking tended to either be extravagant or take-out - there wasn't really an in between. Sam, on the other hand, usually threw together lettuce and whatever vegetables were in the cupboard and called it a salad.

So when it was your turn to cook, you kept it simple and warm usually, such as spaghetti, soup, or pizza. It was incredibly easy to make but Sam and Dean acted like it was the first homemade meal they'd had in a decade.

To be fair, from what they'd told you about their childhood, they'd grown up on microwaveable meals.

You turned on the stovetop, humming to yourself as you filled a pot with water and set it on top to wait for it to boil. While waiting, you went to the freezer to grab a bag of frozen vegetables, disappointed to find nothing.

You could just make the spaghetti by itself, but a small part of you insisted that you make a better meal than simply noodles, so you turned off the heat and leaned out into the living room.

"I'm going to pick up some food from the grocery store for dinner," you called to Sam and Dean, who made a sound of acknowledgement.

You had your learner's permit, of course, so you knew how to drive, and it only took Sam ten minutes to print you out a fake license. Obviously you were horrified to accept it when he'd first printed it, but now… it seemed a bit inconvenient to _not_ use it.

Dean didn't trust you to drive the Impala yet (it wasn't anything personal, he assured you) so you took the small car that was in the Men of Letters' garage and pulled out onto the dusty Kansas road.

There wasn't much traffic on the road until you came to town, which was backed up with cars trying to get home from work. You edged the car slowly into the grocery store parking lot (you drove slowly, terrified that a cop would pull you over and find out that your license was a fake) and parked near the entrance, grabbing your wallet.

The grocery store was fortunately not too busy, and you wandered to the freezer aisle to grab a variety of frozen vegetables. It would be enough to last a week, you reasoned, lining up behind an elderly woman to pay.

"That'll be thirteen seventy-six," the woman behind the counter said after ringing up the food. Her hair was short and greasy; the ends were dyed pink. She smacked her last words a bit because of the gum in her mouth. You groped in your wallet for the money and paid, looking out the window. It was growing dark; the sun, which had been a bit visible when you'd left the bunker, was now long gone over the horizon.

Once the food was bagged, you exited, finding that the temperature had chilled in the short amount of time that you were inside getting the veggies. You wrapped your thin jacket around yourself a bit tighter, exhaling to see your breath. Automatically, your first thought was a ghost was there, but then you relaxed; it was cold out, that was all.

The parking lot was nearly empty now. Everyone had left to go home for the night. You unlocked your car, the lights flashing and beeping as it unlocked. There was a sudden stillness in the air that made you uneasy, and you glanced behind, almost expecting someone to be standing behind you.

There was no one there.

 _Pull yourself together,_ you told yourself. _It's only a parking lot. A quiet, empty, dark parking lot._

You tossed the bags of groceries into the backseat and were about to sit down in the driver's seat when a hand gripped your arm from behind.

Your heart just about burst out of your chest in that moment, but you managed to not scream and instead whirled around to see the elderly woman that had been in front of you while you were paying for the food.

A couple of months ago, you probably would have relaxed instantly and asked what the woman needed.

Not anymore.

You clenched your fists, automatically distrusting her, and waiting for her to make a move.

"So you're the girl?" the old woman rasped. "The one they're all talking about? The one who's going to determine the fate of the war?"

You tried to keep from trembling. "That's right. And if you don't get out of my way, I'll…"

 _Uh-oh. I can't think of anything to say_ , was the only thought that ran through your mind, and the elderly lady smiled affectionately when she noticed your hesitation.

"Not to worry. I just wanted to meet you. You sided with the angels, didn't you? And their pets, the Winchesters," the woman said, her eyes flickering black.

 _This isn't good._

And you knew what to do… Sam and Dean had told you all about demons. What to do if they came, how to exorcise them, what hurt them… but in the moment, with the adrenaline, you could only panic.

Quicker than you could have imagine, the possessed senior lady threw a punch at you - _dang, old ladies can pack a punch_ \- and you stumbled backwards against your car, clutching at your nose and feeling even more panicked when you pulled your hand away to see blood.

"I could torture you," the old lady mused. "Or, I could just kill you here on the spot." She eyed you as though deciding, and without thinking you began to speak, the words tumbling out of your mouth.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas," you recited, the words flowing from fresh memory.

Well, it started to work. The woman's eyes bulged and she looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she threw out her hand and you felt yourself lift into the air. The back of your head slammed into a car and your vision went black for a moment.

Light-headed, you tried to stand, and found that the woman was standing above you with a knife.

"Goodbye," she whispered, and plunged the knife downwards.

 _I don't want to die_ , you thought, closing your eyes.

* * *

No pain.

Nothing. No more soft wind on your neck. The sounds of distant traffic were gone.

Maybe you died instantly? Is that why there's no sensation of blood trickling down your forehead?  
You opened your eyes. The knife was an inch above your forehead. You yelped and scrambled aside, staring at the woman incredulously. She wasn't moving.

Come to think of it, _nothing_ was moving. The trees were statues. The cars on the road were still; their lights on yet… the cars weren't moving.

Time was stopped.

The only thing you could think to do was finish the exorcism.

The words felt chunky coming out of your mouth. Some small part of you wondered how you could hear yourself - if time was stopped, then wouldn't that mean that sound doesn't travel, according to physics? - but you didn't question it, instead finishing the final words. The second the last word was out of your mouth, there was a roar of sound returning, lights moving, and objects traveling.

Time had returned. The demon violently exited the lady in a cloud of smoke, and the second that she did, a wave of vertigo slammed into you like a truck. You clutched at your head and vomited, falling to your knees. It felt like someone had stuck you in a washing machine for several hours, and you barely felt like standing, but the only thing you could think to do at the moment was get back to the bunker, so you fumbled with the car door and practically fell inside.

 _Need to get to Sam and Dean_ , you thought woozily, putting the car into drive and praying that you wouldn't crash.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sam! Dean!" you hollered as soon as you got into the bunker, stumbling towards to the table and falling into a chair. There was the distant sound of footsteps and then both entered.

"What's up?" Sam said, coming in with a look of distraction at first. He looked at you closer. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you said, not mentioning that the room was sliding and tilting back and forth slightly and your head was pounding like a snare drum inside your skull. Saying "I'm fine" seemed to be the staple answer in the Winchester household. Bunkerhold? The thought made your head throb again.

"I…" you continued, finding that it was difficult to speak when the room was swaying so much. "I did it!"

"Did… what?" Dean said, his face etched with confusion.

"Stopped time!" you said, beaming at him. The second the words were out of your mouth, you were aware of how ridiculous you sounded, and cringed. "I know it sounds weird. But I swear I'm telling the truth. There was a demon, and she was about to stab me in the head, and so I was just thinking that I didn't want to die and it stopped, for like fifteen seconds."

"Really?" Sam said, breaking into a smile. "Y/N, that's great! That's a huge step closer to winning the war!"

Oh, right. The war. You'd almost forgotten. The war that you knew almost nothing about except that the demons were bad and you were supposed to be the warrior.

"Y/N, are you sure you're alright?" Sam said, his forehead creasing. You'd just pressed your hands tightly to your head to massage your temples, and apparently he'd noticed.

"I'm fine," you assured him. "Just a bit weird stopping time, apparently."

"Okay," Sam said, but he was still frowning. "You need aspirin?"

"Nah," you said, even though you wanted it. "I'll be fine. Are we leaving tonight for the next hunt?" You were beginning to really look forward to hunts; they were adrenaline-filled and made you feel righteous.

"We are. You're staying," Dean said. "You have school."

"What?" you said, the smile dropping from your face instantly. "Why?"

"Uh, because you're a sophomore in high school, and you're not going to become a dropout because of us," Dean said firmly. "We'll drop you off tomorrow then we're taking off. The hunt's in the next town over so we'll probably be done by the time you're out of school; it's a salt and burn."

You wanted to protest, but didn't dare: Sam and Dean were still a bit intimidating, with their height and guns, and you didn't want to provoke them. Not that they'd get mad at you (you hoped) but something held you back from arguing.

* * *

"Okay. Ground rules," Dean said when you were packed up in the back seat of the Impala. Sam sat in the passenger seat, watching his brother with a bit of amusement.

"No leaving the school during the day. Keep your salt and holy water with you at all times. If anyone tries to talk to you that seems suspicious, don't hesitate and throw holy water at them-"

"I'll be careful-" you interrupted, feeling like a kindergartener going to school with a protective mother hovering. The thought made you ache inside suddenly, your mother's image swimming to the front of your mind, and you shoved it down.

"If we're running late from the hunt, which is doubtful, you're not getting a ride from anyone. You're going to wait inside the school until we get there," Dean continued.

"Look, a demon tried to stab me yesterday - I'm not going to do anything reckless," you promised, but Dean wasn't listening.

"And if anything - _anything_ \- seems wrong, you call us," Dean finished.

"Yeah, I will," you agreed meekly.

"Alright," Dean said, easing the Impala over to the school. "Have fun, kid."

You got out of the car and glanced back over your shoulder as the car rumbled away. Stomach churning, you stiffened your jaw, tried to look confident, and walked into the school. It was reminiscent of the first hunt you went on, when Sam and Dean enrolled you in that school.

Except this time, any impressions you made would stick since Sam and Dean were bent on you finishing high school.

You entered the building and after heading to the office to get your schedule printed, you headed to the end of the left wing of the school for English class. No one paid you much attention; no one seemed to notice you were new. You chose a seat in the middle of the room (standing out was not on your to-do list) and took a pencil out, tapping it nervously against the edge of the desk as other kids filtered in.

The teacher briefly introduced you to the class, but didn't make you state a fun fact about yourself, to your relief. He jumped right into a discussion on the book they were reading (To Kill a Mockingbird) and fortunately, you'd already read it, so it wasn't difficult to pay attention.

In fact, when you got your homework, there was a strange feeling of satisfaction. You despised homework months ago, when you did it every day, but now that it had been weeks since you'd had… _normal_ , this felt good.

Better than good, actually. You briefly pictured your mom smiling at you, agreeing that a routine was always nice to have, and again you had to shove her away out of your thoughts. It wasn't the time or place to think about her, you told yourself.

The "better than good" feeling dissipated as soon as the lunch bell rang.

 _Oh, no, please someone invite me to sit with them,_ you prayed silently, moving slowly as you got your food and staking out the empty tables.

You emerged with your tray of food to find no one looking over and beckoning for you to sit with them. Not that you blamed them; if the roles were reversed, you doubted you would have had the courage to speak up and invite the new kid to sit with you.

Sam and Dean hadn't told you that much about their childhood, but they did say that they moved around frequently because their dad was always switching towns to go on hunts. They'd switched schools many times, Sam had mentioned.

You gritted your teeth, determined to not let lunch ruin your day. There was a table empty except for one girl sitting alone, and you took your tray over there, approaching the girl.

"Okay if I sit here?" you asked, gesturing to three seats over from the girl. She nodded, and you took your seat, not daring to make conversation. Thus, your lunch was eaten in silence, and you were never so relieved to hear the lunch bell ring again. You snatched your bag and trash up and vacated the area, your cheeks burning.

When the day ended, you made your way to the lobby of the school as the other kids loaded the buses, hoping to see the Impala already in the parking lot. It wasn't there, so you took your bag to a bench and sat down, pulling out your phone. Neither Sam nor Dean had texted. They were on a hunt though, you supposed, so you figured if you hadn't heard from them in thirty minutes you'd text.

Sure enough, the thirty minutes passed without any word. You pulled out your phone, considering how to phrase the text so that you wouldn't sound needy or rude. Finally, you sent a simple message asking if the hunt was going well, adding a smiley face to the end to indicate the tone, and put your phone down. It probably wasn't the kind of text that Sam and Dean would send each other, but you were afraid to send anything brash.

The school was much quieter now. Teachers mulled about, leaving the school. The track team ran by every so often and the sound of the baseball players practicing in the gym occasionally reached the lobby.

You began to get antsy, tapping your foot against the floor. It wasn't that you cared about having to wait for Sam and Dean - your earbuds were in, and you were perfectly content to listen to music there - but you were worried that the hunt had gone sideways.

You checked your phone. An hour and a half had passed since you'd sent the text; two hours since school had gotten out. The track team was leaving the school, and the sun was beginning to dip below the tips of the tallest trees. Warm, golden sunshine poured into the hallway of the school.

You had an internal conflict with yourself, unsure of whether to call them or not. On one hand, you were worried that something had gone wrong. On the other hand, you didn't want to seem annoying, and calling them seemed like an annoying thing to do. You contented yourself with texting again, asking if everything was okay. This time, the text didn't even deliver.

"You have a ride?" one of the teachers asked as she left the school. It took you a moment to realize it was your new chemistry teacher.

"Yeah," you said automatically, smiling at her. "They're just running late."

"Getting your homework done?" the teacher asked, nodding at the papers beside you.

"What? Oh, yeah," you said, looking at the homework you had taken out but hardly touched.

"Well, have a good evening," the teacher said, leaving.

The sun fell behind the trees and the comforting sunlight that had been lighting the hallways began to dim slightly, and the school's lights became brighter than the outside light. That was what began to really make you nervous, and finally you worked up the courage to try calling Dean.

The call didn't go through. Sam's phone went straight to voicemail as well.

Still, you sat there, unwilling to disobey Dean and leave the school.

Outside, there was a large group of kids loading a bus. They were dressed in the school colors, some holding signs, others with face paint. You remembered hearing on the announcements that morning that there was a fan bus for students that wanted to go to the girls' softball game in the next town over.

The same town that Sam and Dean were in. You glanced at your phone. No text, no calls. Nothing.

Dean had told you to not come, but it was now dark outside. It'd been hours that you were sitting there, and there was no way that the hunt was going well if they hadn't bothered to check their phones and let you know that they weren't going to pick you up in time. You got up from your seat on the bench, your bottom throbbing uncomfortably after having sat on the wooden bench for so long, and hurried over to the fan bus, which was still loading. You tried calling them both one more time before stepping outside the building.

Neither phone picked up. You exhaled and stepped onto the bus, your heart pumping wildly at the thought that you were deliberately disobeying Dean's words.

* * *

No one questioned your presence on the bus. It was loud with music and kids hollering; there was no doubt that they were excited for the game. You sat anxiously, gripping the edge of your seat so hard that one boy noticed and asked why you looked so tense. You tried to relax immediately, blushing intensely, but the boy had already started talking to his friends again.

"Okay, so I'm really sorry," you shouted to Dean's voicemail over the noise of the bus, "but I'm really worried that you guys are in trouble. So I'm coming, and I'm really sorry because I know you told me to stay in the school, but… I'm coming. Yeah, so call me if this is all a mistake and you're actually okay. Thanks. Bye." You hung up awkwardly, imploring Sam and Dean to respond.

They didn't.

Sam had mentioned that the hunt was at the local library, in which locals were spontaneously committing suicide, according to the police. Two people had died in the past month.

The bus, unfortunately, was headed for the school, but you rode by the library on your way. You could see the Impala parked there.

That was good, at least; you knew where they were. The school wasn't very far from the library, so once you got off the bus and separated yourself from the crowd of whooping fans, you hurried down the sidewalk towards the library.

The library was dark - it had closed for the night - but there was a window open in the back; clearly, that was how Sam and Dean had entered. You slipped through it, fighting against the guilt that was threatening to distract you from the task at hand.

 _Stop getting worried, Y/N,_ you told yourself. _You're not breaking into a library. You're helping your friends. Well, you are breaking into a library, but it's for a good reason._

You forced yourself to stop thinking about this and instead called out tentatively, "Sam? Dean?"

There was no answer except the temperature in the room dropped slightly. You gripped your salt tightly, very glad that Dean had made you put it in your backpack. You continued to the back of the library, calling their names again.

There was a locked door in the back of the library.

You figured that there couldn't be that many locked rooms in a library, so this had to be it - the room that the ghost was trapping people in. It was a wooden door, so it didn't seem too sturdy. You took a step back, taking a breath in. You'd seen both Sam and Dean kick down several doors and it didn't seem too difficult a feat.

You kicked at the door as hard as you could, half-expecting the door to bust open. Instead, your knee practically busted as you jarred your leg against the door, which didn't give in in the slightest.

There was a desk over in the corner, and it seemed to be the librarian's desk. You ran over and rummaged through the doors, searching for a key, and to your surprise there was one in the top drawer. You grabbed it, hands shaking slightly, and ran back to the locked door.

It worked.

The door swung open to reveal a sort of supply closet. Old, broken books were in there, along with new copies that hadn't been put on the shelves yet. And in the corner, blood seeping from their wrists and pooling around them, were Sam and Dean.

Fear struck through you at the sight of the strong, protective brothers laying on the floor, unconscious, but you ran forward anyway, pulling out your phone with trembling fingers and dialing 911.

"Dean? Sam?" you asked softly, unsure of what to do. The room went cold again and a spirit manifested in front of you, knife out aggressively. He took a step forward, raising the blade quickly, and aimed for your lower arms - where he'd cut Sam and Dean.

 _Crap crap crap crap crap_ was your only thought, when suddenly the air went still.

Just like before the demon had almost killed you. It was almost like instinct, you thought in awe, noticing that the fan that had been blowing outside the door had stopped and the whir of the heater was dead silent.

You knelt by Sam and Dean, uncertain of how to utilize this moment. Time was frozen; you had time to act.

 _Get rid of the ghost_ , Dean's voice seemed to say in your ear, and you grabbed the match that was fallen by Sam's hand. There were bones in the corner, you saw, that had been pulled up from under the floorboards.

You had just lit the bones on fire when suddenly time unfroze. It was startling; you hadn't been expecting it nor were you quite sure how it happened.

For the briefest of instants, you could feel pure satisfaction as the spirit screamed and went up in flames, and realized that the operator on the phone was in the process of asking what the matter was. Dazed, you lifted the phone to your ear to answer, when nausea struck you like a battering ram.

Sam and Dean were still unmoving in the corner, and you stumbled over to them to wrap their wrists, which were bleeding heavily, but the lighting in the room seemed to be fading - no, your vision was getting spotty. You crouched by them, reaching out to feel for a pulse.

 _Don't pass out_ , you told yourself, crying out as pain rippled from your core to your fingertips. You fell to the floor, the darkness spreading to the middle of your vision and blackening the room out completely.

* * *

"Honestly, where's Cas when we need him?"

"Off the radar. I just called his phone again, and he didn't pick up."

"Did you try… praying him? Maybe he's done with the phone."

"Yeah, of course I tried. I tried praying when we were bleeding out with a damn ghost pinning us down on the floor of a library. Didn't work then, either."

You heard the conversation but couldn't listen; instead, the words floated like white noise in your mind. You tried to wake up but found it was exceedingly difficult - the heavy tug of sleep pulled you back under.

* * *

The next time you woke up, it was a bit easier. You managed to open your eyes slightly, squinting at the bright sunshine that was glaring into your eyes relentlessly.

White, sterile room. Chair next to the bed. It was a hospital. Upon this realization, you flew upwards, and instantly regretted that motion. Your head spun and you leaned back down out of instinct, wincing. The room was empty and blissfully quiet.

It took fifteen minutes for a nurse to show.

"Oh, good, you're up!"

"What… happened?" you said, frowning. You remembered the library, and time coming to a stop, and feeling nauseous… passing out… but you couldn't think of a reason why you'd be in the hospital.

"We found you and your brothers in the room, and they're fine, don't worry. You were unconscious, so we took you in, but couldn't find any injury."  
"I've just been out?"

"For about a day, dear."

Your intense anger at having missed a day of your life was quickly replaced with worry. "You said Sam and Dean are okay?"

"Yes, they're all stitched up. They went down for coffee in the caf."

You leaned back, relaxing slightly. "Okay."

Sam and Dean returned to your room twenty minutes later.

"Hey, you're up and about," Dean said, grinning at you. "Look at you. Just salted and burned your first ghost. Wish I could've seen it."

"What happened? The doctors said you weren't waking but you weren't injured…?" Sam pressed.

"Time froze again," you said, lowering your voice a bit. "The same thing happened less time, but it wasn't as bad. It's like my body doesn't like doing it, or something."

"Maybe it's like a muscle," Sam suggested. "And when you use it - since you never use it - it's a bit painful."

"It felt like someone nailed me in the head with a sledgehammer," you snorted. You hesitated, lowering your eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean, I broke one of your rules-"

"You're kidding, right?" Dean interrupted.

"What?"

"Kid, I'm not going to get mad because you saved our lives. What you did was good. And you don't have to worry about breaking rules so much - we do that a lot in this family," Dean said gruffly, shaking his head.

"Yeah. Y/N, we can't thank you enough," Sam said, his eyes warm.

And at that moment, you felt like you were glowing.

 _Oops, another horrible ending to a chapter. Not really sure where this fic is going but it's fun to write so I guess I'll just keep improvising._

 _Thanks for reading! I appreciate every single review!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Next one! I'm hoping to get out another one by the end of tomorrow or Monday :)_

Four months had passed since you'd settled into life with Sam and Dean.

Between hours of homework each night (thanks, AP teachers!), track after school, and the research you'd been doing to help Sam and Dean on their hunts, you'd barely had any time to relax. But what was making you most restless was the upcoming Saturday; Dean had told you that they'd be hunting a werewolf and you were allowed to go.

The hunt was a drive away, up in Montana, and at least seventeen hours away. You'd already let your teachers know that you wouldn't be in class on Monday, and they'd given you homework that you could complete on the drive up.

"Alright. Say you're jumped by the werewolf, and he's attacking you." Dean reviewed a scenario for what seemed the hundredth time. It was Friday night, and you were all having dinner at the bunker before going to bed for a long day of driving the next day. "You're close range because he's on top of you. What do you do?"

"If he's so close to me that I can't stab him in the heart, I'll try to at least cut him with the silver knife to slow him down," you answered promptly, bouncing in your chair at the table. "Don't worry! I'm ready!"

Sam chewed and swallowed his salad thoughtfully. "You can never be too ready when you're going into a hunt," he advised. "Especially when you're sixteen."

You nodded quickly, absorbing the information. Everything that they'd said about hunting you'd written down, desperate to be an asset and not a liability on the hunt.

"Werewolves are fast, and strong," Dean added. "We can barely hold them down, and we're a lot bigger than you. Don't try to attack them hand-on-hand, go for the knife immediately. And don't let them bite you."

"Got it," you said, trying not to sound too eager; you didn't want to seem like a little kid.

"Alright, I'm going to head in for the night," Sam said, standing. "What time you want to head out?" he asked, directing the question to Dean.

"Nothing before eight," Dean said automatically. "Coffee first."

Sam grimaced. "Fine. Let's leave at eight, then."

Dean looked a bit disappointed at that, opening his mouth to object, but then he closed it. "Alright. See you in the morning, Y/N."

You grinned at him and then bounded to your room to pack everything that you deemed potentially necessary to bring.

* * *

By eight in the morning, you'd thrown your bag into the trunk along with Sam and Dean's duffel bags.

"Want me to drive?" you asked, grinning at Dean, knowing full well what his response would be.

Dean paused. "Sure, kid. You've earned it," he decided.

You stopped short. "What? Are you serious?"

"Go ahead." He tossed you the keys.

You stared at them in awe for a moment. "Thanks!" you said enthusiastically, climbing into the front seat. Dean took the passenger, and Sam climbed into the back.

"But I swear, if you crash Baby, I'll kick your ass into next week," Dean warned as you started the engine.

* * *

It only took ten minutes for Dean to get frustrated with your driving.

"She's not meant to be driven this slowly, Y/N," he protested.

Sam snorted from the backseat. "She's going the speed limit, Dean."

"Exactly. That's slow. Baby's meant to be driven ten over."

You didn't keep your eyes off of the road. "I'm being safe! I don't want to crash your car!"

"At this rate, we'll be leaving Kansas tonight," Dean groaned.

You pressed on the gas a bit more, and the Impala sped forward to about three over the speed limit. "Happy?" you asked.

"No."

"I'm not going any faster than this," you declared. "Enjoy the safety of it."

"Well, you're going into a werewolf hunt, so you won't be enjoying safety for long," Dean said, rummaging through a box of cassettes. "How 'bout some Led Zeppelin?" He slid a tape in and turned the volume up high. You winced, making eye contact in the rear view mirror with Sam, who gave you a sympathetic look.

* * *

Even though you had only stopped for food and bathroom breaks, Dean, who had taken over the wheel thirty minutes into the ride, stopped at a motel in Sheridan, Wyoming. It was already eight at night and you were all wiped; driving was more exhausting than you had expected.

The motel was the dingiest, cheapest one you'd ever seen. The interior was dusty and disgusting, and the scent of mothballs permeated the entrance.

"Just staying for the night?" the guy asked at the desk. His teeth were horribly crooked and his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a decade. He was tall; at least an inch over Sam.

"Yep."

"How many beds?" the guy asked, his eyes drifting over to you.

"Three, if you have it. Two beds and a pullout will work too," Sam said easily, handing him a credit card. The guy took it slowly, his actions slow and dull.

Sam accepted the room key and the three of you made your way to the back of the motel, opening up the door to find a cramped room. There were two beds and a small couch, which you took quickly out of courtesy to Sam and Dean's stature. Unfortunately, the couch wasn't a pull-out, but you found some sheets in the closet and made yourself a cozy nest on it.

"Hey, Y/N," Sam said, coming out of the bathroom and rubbing his hands through his hair. "Dean and I are going to hit the bar in town for a drink-"

"And to hustle some money," Dean interjected, grinning.

"You all good if we head out for the night?" Sam finished.

You nodded. "Go ahead," you said easily. After giving you a silver knife (just in case) and giving you strict instructions to put a salt line at the door once they were gone, they left.

You didn't stay up too late. You put the television on an old movie that you and your mom used to watch together when you were sick.

For some reason, the memory didn't sting. Instead, it felt like a distant dream that you were slowly forgetting.

That scared you more than anything, and you switched it to the news channel for the white noise.

You were glad that Sam and Dean were going out for a drink together, because lately you felt like you'd been a drag on the brothers. You considered yourself independent, but there was still so much that they did for you that it made you incredibly guilty.

Not to mention how you had pretty much invaded their lives and privacy now that you were living with them. You really hoped that your gratitude was conveyed to them, because they honestly had done so much for you since your family had been killed.

Deep down, you knew why you were living with them; not because they took you in as an orphan, but because they needed you for the war that was supposedly coming. You were their weapon, and they couldn't afford to lose you.

Once all of this was over, they'd probably drop you off at your aunt's house or something, you told yourself. Yes, they were doing a lot for you, and yes, you were starting to think of them as older brothers, but you had to remind yourself that they only needed you because of your time freezing.

Which, speaking of, you hadn't been able to do since you'd drained your batteries saving Sam and Dean last time. It wouldn't come, no matter how much you willed it to.

You didn't remember what time you'd fallen asleep, but you woke up sometime in the middle of the night. Sam and Dean were each in a bed, snoring. The television had been shut off and the curtains closed.

And one of them - you weren't sure who - had laid a thick blanket on top of you. A surge of guilt and pleasure flowed through you; you were desperate for them to think of you as a little sister, but at the same time you reminded yourself that they were just being kind to you because they were stuck with you, after all.

* * *

You reached Polson, Montana around mid-afternoon the next day.

"So, I mapped out all of the attacks," Sam said once you had booked a room at the inn. Dean was leaning against the kitchenette, a beer in hand, and Sam was sitting at the table. You were perched on the twin bed (there were three of them, and you were grateful to know you'd be on a bed and not a couch), sitting criss-cross.

"And," Sam continued, "I think I've pinpointed the location. There's a dam in town. It was built during the '30s, and actually was funded by Roosevelt, because there was a lack of employment in the area-"

"We don't care," Dean interrupted. "So they're at the dam?" He picked up his silver knife and twirled it in his hand. "Alright. Let's get this done."

Sam stood up. "Hang on," he said hesitantly. "Maybe we shouldn't rush into it."

"Why not? Better to gank 'em before they know hunters are in town."

"Yeah, but… should we take things slow with Y/N? Werewolves aren't a game, Dean," Sam said, glancing at you.

You felt your cheeks heat up. "It's fine," you said quickly. "We can go tonight. I'm ready."

"Alright," Sam said doubtfully. "Should we go check things out?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Dean was driving uphill towards the dam. The parking was by a path that led to the dam, so the Impala was left there while you all got out of the car.

"This isn't my first hunt," you insisted when Dean opened his mouth to start telling you the procedure again. "I'll be fine."

"But it is your first dangerous hunt," Sam interjected. "Aside from being around demons and ghosts, you haven't encountered any monsters yet."

"So, ground rules," Dean said firmly. "You take the middle, always. I want Sam and me to be on either side of you at all times. No lingering in the back to check something out or going ahead."

"I wasn't planning on doing that," you responded, grinning at him. The thought of going off on your own made your blood run cold. You hadn't realized until now how nervous you were.

"If I tell you to run, you get the hell out of there and leave me and Sam. Got it?" Dean continued.

"I won't leave you guys there," you said, disgruntled. "Look, I promise not to be stupid. How about that?"

"And, if we say to hide, hide. If we tell you to do _anything_ , including leaving us bleeding on the floor to save yourself, you're going to book your ass out of there. Okay?"

"Fine," you lied, just to appease him. "You sound like Dumbledore before he and Harry go to the cave in the Half-Blood Prince," you added. Dean gave you a blank look.

"You never read Harry Potter?" you protested.

"I did," Sam said helpfully, raising a hand up into the air. "I know what part you're talking about."

"See? You should read it," you suggested as you continued to trek along the trail, Sam in front and Dean behind.

It didn't take long to reach the dam. It was wide, arcing across the edge of the river. Water gushed over the edge of the dam loudly, roaring in your ears.

"There's a cabin over there!" Sam shouted over the volume of the falls, pointing to the abandoned shack by the dam. "Let's go check it out!"

You nodded in agreement, hoisting your bag up higher onto your shoulder. Sam led the way to the cabin, pulling his gun out in preparation. You poised your small shotgun as well - Dean had filled it with silver bullets for you.

The cabin seemed to be for rangers and tourists. It was quite large; there was a second floor, and the cabin extended far back. Sam kicked the door open and you were greeted by an array of brochures, along with a wall of taxidermy.

"People have been here recently," Sam said quietly, pointing at the flooring. "The dust is disturbed."

"The question is, people or werewolves?" Dean muttered, stepping into the cabin behind you and closing the door.

"Smell that?" Sam said after a moment, nodding to the stairs ahead. "I think it's coming from up there."

"What is that?" you whispered, putting a hand over your nose and trying not to gag.

"Corpses," Dean replied shortly. "It's not a good smell. Yeah, I think we found our little werewolf den."

The words had just come out of his mouth when there was a rush of movement and sound. Three werewolves came out at them from the room slightly ahead, and Sam, who was in front, fired off a round instinctively.

"Down!" Dean yelled from in back, and you ducked along with Sam as the brothers both shot wildly at the werewolves.

You aimed, focusing hard, and shot at the wolf. The bullet lodged itself in the werewolf, but it didn't slow it down at all. On the contrary, the wolf grinned, and approached you, no longer running. Sam and Dean weren't shooting now, and all three wolves were stopping. You didn't dare fire, instead standing tensely in between Sam and Dean, who moved forward so that they were a step in front of you.

"What the hell are you?" Dean asked tersely.

"Werewolves," the largest one in front said. He was at least five inches taller than Sam and three times wider than you.

"If you were werewolves, you'd be dead. We loaded you with silver," Sam said, still aiming his gun at them.

A thrill of fear went through you at that. You glanced at Sam and then Dean. Both of them had murderous expressions, and you realized in that moment that you would not want them as your enemy.

"You're so stupid. You thought you could galavant in here and take us out? No, we heard that you were coming through here for a werewolf hunt," the female werewolf in the back said. "So we jumped into these wolfy meatsuits." She blinked, and her eyes went pitch black. You drew in your breath sharply, and Sam and Dean moved in closer, practically blocking you from view.

"Demons can possess werewolves?" Dean asked. "Never seen that before." His voice was calm yet so stony that you could tell he was caught off guard.

"A bit more difficult, but it's worth it," the large demon-werewolf said. "Now, I'm going to have to ask you to hand over the young one. Crowley still wants her."

"Crowley sent you?" Sam asked, and you realized he was stalling for time.

"No, actually. See, Hell has its own political parties, and we don't like Crowley," the female said. "What better way to smear the King of Hell than to take his desired weapon ourselves and have a bit of fun with it? It'd be hilarious, trust me."

Dean's hand was slowly creeping to his back pocket, where you knew he kept the demon knife.

"You want her just to rub it in Crowley's face?" Sam confirmed, disgust in his voice.

"That's right," the large one said mildly. "Hand her over or we'll take her by force."

"You'll get Y/N over my dead body," Dean growled. He suddenly whipped the demon knife out of his pocket and lunged forward, stabbing the female demon-werewolf in the chest. She gasped, flickering slightly, and then collapsed to the floor.

"Shoot her with silver!" you heard Dean yell as pandemonium erupted. You shot at the woman, who was stirring, and she went down, unmoving. Sam tackled the largest werewolf and Dean took on the third. Four more demon-werewolves came out of the bedroom ahead like they had been waiting for their cue, and you shot at them, though it didn't do much.

Dean seemed to be winning with the third one, but Sam was struggling; his opponent was large and slowly beginning to overcome him. He gripped Sam's throat, cutting off his air with a satisfied smirk.

Before you even thought about what you were doing, you tackled the large demon-werewolf, your gun skidding across the floor. He was so solid and large that it barely did anything, but he fell sideways a bit, you tumbling on top of him.

"Sam!" you gasped as the werewolf quickly flipped you over and pinned you to the floor.

But Sam was in the middle of stabbing one of the other demon-werewolves. "Hang on, Y/N!" he shouted.

From the floor you got a blurry glimpse of Sam and Dean, who were slowly but steadily overcoming the other demon-werewolves.

Then, the large werewolf brought the butt of your gun towards your head, and everything went black.

* * *

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

There was coldness, and blackness. Nothing more. You opened your eyes and panicked when you couldn't see anything. The ground you were sitting on was cold and hard; it wasn't difficult to realize it was rock. Your head was pounding and you touched a hand to it, then pulled it away, wincing. It felt sticky with blood.

"Sam? Dean?" you whispered cautiously. There was no answer. The tiniest pinprick of light was directly above you, and you fixed your eyes on it, even though it didn't shed any light on where you were.

After crawling around a bit to feel where you were, you discover that there were bars around you.

It was like an underground jail.

"Hello?" you called, a bit louder. There was no answer except for the dripping of moisture on the walls.

You shivered, trying hard not to cry. All you wanted was to not be in this dark, cold pit; you wanted to be back in the motel room with Sam and Dean.

Better yet, more than anything right now you wanted to be back home, safe with your mom and dad.

But they were dead, they had died months ago, you reminded yourself. That life is gone. Don't think about that anymore.

"Sam! Dean!" you yelled, your voice echoing. "Help me!" Your words ended in a sob and you curled yourself up into a ball, wanting warmth more than anything.


	11. Chapter 11

Your stomach felt like it had gnawed through your back by the time you finally heard footsteps.

Your cage, you had discovered, wasn't much longer or wider then five feet. Bars were on three of the sides, and a rocky wall was on the fourth side. The moisture refused to dry, and you felt thoroughly chilled to the bone. Fortunately, you had your jacket with you, but it didn't do much about the constant icy sensation under you.

Despite the pinprick of light above, it was still impossible to see, even once you had adjusted to the dark. There weren't any shapes that you could see; it was just too dark.

The footsteps echoed from far away so you assumed that it was quite a path to get down to this underground lair.

"Hello?" you tried cautiously as the footsteps neared. "Please, help me!"

The breathing was heavy and deep. It sounded vaguely familiar, and it took you a moment to realize it was the large demon-werewolf that had knocked you out. You cringed at the memory, lifting a hand to your still-painful head.

You crawled forward so that you were near the bars. "Let me go!" you begged. "I swear I won't tell anyone where you are, I just want to go home!"

"Weren't you listening?" the man said. "We're keeping you here so that Crowley nor the angels can't get you." He let out a throaty laugh. "I can't wait for them to all panic and wonder where their superb weapon has disappeared to."

There was the sound of something sloshing.

"Meanwhile," the man continued, "she's sitting in a dark, dank cage covered in cold oatmeal."

It took you a moment to process what he was saying, and you frowned in confusion, until a wave of cold slop hit you right in the face. You yelped and scrambled backwards.

"That's all your food for three days," he said. "Make it last."

The footsteps slowly echoed away.

 _He's kidding, right?_ Something told you he wasn't. You quickly scooped all of the oatmeal together, painstakingly pulling every bit out of your hair and off of your clothing. It took at least half an hour to get the oatmeal in one pile, and once you did, for the first time you were relieved it was dark. No doubt that there was dirt in the oatmeal from it landing on the cave floor of your cage. You scooped a bit of it up in your hand, feeling a slight gag in your throat, and tossed it down.

It was bland, chunky, cold, and slimy, but you choked it down, relieved for the sustenance.

 _Where's the time freezing when I need it?_

 _But I suppose it wouldn't do much, sitting in a cage._

You sat down on the floor, deciding to conserve the last two thirds of the small pile of oatmeal you'd collected.

* * *

Five days had passed. You could tell because the pinprick of light disappeared every so often for a long twelve hours of inky darkness.

Sam and Dean weren't coming.

On the first day, you kept calling out for them tentatively. Maybe they were in that underground cave with you, still knocked out, but you weren't alone. You were wrong.

On the second day, you were ready - ready for them to come storming in at any moment. You'd kept yourself entertained by squinting in the pitch black and trying to see which way they would come through, when they came.

On the third day, you'd resigned yourself to the fact that it'd probably take them a while to find you. All of your oatmeal was gone by the third day and you'd sat in pain for most of the day, strong cramps rolling through your abdomen like thunder.

By the fourth day, you'd lost hope that they'd be coming. One part of you thought they would, and the other part didn't.

Now, by the fifth day, you were sure.

On the bright side, you weren't hungry anymore. Something told you that wasn't a good thing.

But the thirst was worse. Of course, there was enough water on the edges of the wall that you wouldn't be running out any time soon, but it was so difficult to get any of it into your mouth. You ultimately began licking the wall when the thirst felt like it had dried your throat and peeled the flesh away.

Still, those licks didn't quench the thirst for a tall glass of water. One with ice cubes clinking in it. Taking a deep sip, feeling the mouthful of water, moistening your cracked lips and throat, swallowing and having the sensation of water slide down.

The darkness felt like a constant blindfold. You were beginning to see flashes of images, and you figured it was a normal reaction from the brain - creating images to make up for the lack of vision - but they kept you entertained. One time, you could've sworn that you were seeing a person approaching your cage, but after another blink they were gone.

For the most part, the demons left you alone. They didn't seem to care that you were there - what they cared about was the fact that they were keeping you from Crowley and the angels.

For how long they intended to keep you, you weren't sure.

Until the war was over? The prospect of being in the dark, cold, empty cave for that long terrified you.

At first, you'd been constantly crying. It probably wasn't the most resourceful way to spend your time (Sam and Dean would've figured out to get out of here after the first hour, you thought ruefully), but you weren't ashamed, since no one could see you or hear you.

The constant fear that had been keeping your adrenaline high was wearing off once you started getting hungry, and that was a plus. Being this thirsty and hungry at least kept the fear at bay because you were so preoccupied.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice that the pinprick of light had gone dark. You were disappointed; there was so little to do that the highlight of your day was watching the pinprick go from white to black.

What was this? You were beginning to forget. The fifth night, that's right. Into the sixth day. Almost a week with nothing but the water on the walls and a few handfuls of oatmeal.

* * *

The seventh day, you woke up especially cold.

 _Did it snow overnight?_

No, it couldn't have. The last bit of logic remaining in your mind told you that if it had snowed, then the water on the walls would be frozen and not dripping still.

 _Then why is it so cold?_

You shivered, feeling your face and wiping sweat off of it. That couldn't be a good sign.

"Happy Sunday," the demon said suddenly, outside of your cage. You leaped backwards against the back wall, hugging yourself tightly and willing the man to go away.

"Tori says you should get a bonus for Sundays," the man said.

You weren't sure who Tori was, but whoever she was, you thanked her rigorously in your mind when through the bars was a crinkle sound. The man vanished, leaving you to the pitch black silence.

You crept over to where the sound had been and almost knocked over a cup. It was a small paper cup, you realized, and after tasting it you realized it was water.

A full two gulps of water later and it was gone, but it felt like the most water you'd drank in years. Next to the paper cup was a lone, limp piece of bread.

Save it or eat it all? You contemplated, and feeling impulsive you shoved the entire thing down.

After having gone a week with nothing but a few handfuls of oatmeal, it was almost too much food; you felt sick after eating it and fought to keep it down.

Intense nausea set in shortly after. Your throat felt like it was on fire, and the headache you'd had at the beginning from the head wound returned. The cave felt like it had dropped another ten degrees, and you stayed in a curled, shivering mess. Your jacket was soaked with the moisture of the cave and your own sweat, and you didn't doubt that you looked like a mess. One pull at your hair with your fingers and you stopped, feeling defeated. If you got out of here, it would take hours to brush it out.

* * *

You'd been keeping track of the days but it wasn't until the end of the fourteenth day that it struck you you'd been there for two weeks.

The images you'd been seeing because of the dark had become more vivid, and a couple of times you'd responded to them, thinking they were real.

"Sam!" you called listlessly when the pinprick went dark again, signifying that it would become the fifteenth day. "Sam, I'm here. Anytime you want to come save me."

There was no answer, and it scared you for a moment when you realized you had half-been expecting to get a response.

"Dean?" you tried. "Dean, I'm still here. Still in this cave. Nothing but a few bites of oatmeal and bread. I… could - I could use… use one of your burg… burgers." Your words were slurring.

 _So hungry._

"Hungry?" said the demon suddenly. He was standing in front of you. You blinked in confusion; he never came at night - only in the mornings.

One glance at the ceiling, though, told you it was morning.

 _That's weird. I don't remember sleeping._

Sleep was rare, with the hard rock floor and all. You snorted suddenly at what it must look like, and what it would look like if daylight could make it into the dark - you, curled up on a rock without a pillow. The image struck you as funny.

"Bread day," the man said, and your heart leapt as the bread was thrown in along with the paper cup of water. It was gone within seconds; you tore into it wildly and downed the water so fast that a precious droplet fell out.

"It's a bit funny," said a woman's voice suddenly, and you looked up, surprised. It was only ever the man that came down here. You assumed the woman was Tori. The man had mentioned her once before. "Your friends are looking for you."

Joy ran through your heart. "Really?" you said eagerly, before reminding yourself, these are the bad guys. You're supposed to ignore them. But they were gracious enough to give you bread and water on Sundays… maybe, if you got them to like you, they'd set you free.

The logic made sense.

"Where are they?" you asked, forcing yourself to get closer to the bars of the cage and the demons. "Are they coming?"

"In your dreams, kid. We took you from Montana," the man said. "You're in Hell."

"Jay!" the woman, Tori, reprimanded.

"She can't connect with anyone," Jay assured her. "Don't worry."

"Hell?!" you said, panicking. "What?!"

"Because it's far and remote," Tori said simply. "Sam and Dean won't find you. We're at the headquarters of our group. The one that opposes Crowley."

"But I still see night and day," you said, fighting for any reason to think you wouldn't be in… Hell. "And it's not hot. There isn't… fire. And screaming."

Tori laughed. "Us demons have places in Hell, you know. It's not all one big place of torture. You're thinking of the east side of Hell."

"I'm still alive, so I can't be in Hell," you said, with a bit more confidence. Tori and Jay chuckled to themselves, almost as if sharing an inside joke.

"You can be alive in Hell, kid," Tori said.

"They won't come, will they? Sam and Dean?" you said with defeat. Again, you kicked yourself mentally.

 _Don't ever fraternize with the enemy,_ Sam's voice rang in your mind. You weren't sure if Sam had ever even said that.

"Do you think they'll come?" Tori asked, her voice edged with what sounded like curiosity. Maybe she did care. Maybe she'd let you go.

"Will you let me go?" you asked in a quiet voice, forgetting the question. "Please… I haven't done anything."

"Sorry, kid. No can do," Jay said. "You're lucky we haven't hurt you."

Tori's laughter sounded again, and it made you tremble; why, you weren't sure. "Jay, come on. Wouldn't it be fun? Put a bullet in her foot."

There was silence as Jay considered. "Left or right foot?" he decided, cocking the gun. You flew back to the opposite side of the cage immediately, shaking.

"No...n-no," you begged. "No!"

"Right foot it is, then," Tori said. "And… bang!"

You cried out, clutching your feet, but there was no pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes - it didn't do much, considering it was pitch black - and realized that he hadn't shot you.

Jay's laughter filled the cage. "Watch yourself, I might shoot you another day."

The sound of their footsteps faded away, and you curled up in relief, feeling both of your feet to make sure that they hadn't been shot without you noticing.

* * *

 _Three weeks. That can't be right._

 _Unless I counted wrong._

You recounted.

 _No, three weeks. Seven days, three times. That's three weeks._

Your stomach felt hollow. The fever that had plagued you the week before had faded, thankfully, but now the hallucinations were so great that you rarely got to see the blackness of the cave. When you did, it was a relief from the often violent images that frequently danced around you menacingly.

"Tori?" you asked cautiously when you heard the light footsteps coming. It wasn't scary anymore when you heard them come down - every three days, right at morning, like clockwork.

The routine was comforting and you appreciated Tori and Jay's punctuality.

"Oatmeal," Tori said tonelessly, putting a bowl in under the bars of the cage. Every so often they'd throw the oatmeal at you, laughing, so it was always a pleasure to receive it in a bowl.

"Thank you," you said, grateful for both the civil delivery of the oatmeal and the delivery of it in the first place, right on schedule.

* * *

"I know why they never came for me," you said softly to Tori when she was giving you your oatmeal one day. You'd almost lost track of the time, but you were fairly sure it had been a ten months.

"Why?" Tori asked. Jay rarely responded to you, but Tori did. You sought her out; she was the only bit of warmth in this hellhole of a place.

"I'm a tool to them," you explained. "They needed me for the war. They lost me when we went on that hunt. But I'm not a sister to them."

"If you were their sister, do you think they would have come for you?" Tori asked.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Sam and Dean told me how they've saved each other countless times. Sold their souls and everything." You snorted, suddenly, remembering how you had begun to think of them as older brothers.

"You're a child to them," Tori agreed. "A useless sixteen year old girl who happens to be able to help them in the war. They don't actually care about you."

You leaned back against the rocky wall of the cave. You'd long gotten used to the bruises on your back and bottom from no cushions. You'd also gotten quite acute hearing, having not been able to see anything since ten months ago.

"Tori? Why didn't they like me?" you asked. You liked Tori - she had never once followed through on her threats to hurt and even kill you. She wouldn't hurt you, it seemed. And she'd never missed a bowl of oatmeal - every three days, about thirty-seven minutes after the pinprick of light showed up in the ceiling.

"You don't mean anything to them," Tori said bluntly. "You never did."

You sighed. "I wish I meant something to them. I mean, I still dream of them rescuing me. I want them to help me. I want to see them come up to me with concern."

"In your dreams," Tori said, and left.

Several more days went.

It was the ten-and-a-half month anniversary of living with Tori and Jay in the cave when the routine changed.

It was terrifying. Jay was supposed to come down and throw the oatmeal at you, like he always did. But he didn't come.

You waited anxiously, listening for any sign that Tori or Jay would come and give you food. There wasn't much you could do - you'd lost all energy to move months ago and now just sat limply on the floor - but you tipped your head, listening for any sound.

Then, there was white, blinding pain. You clutched at your eyes, falling backwards into the corner.

"Y/N!"

You would've assumed this was a hallucination, but it actually _hurt_ your eyes. Not to mention your hallucinations never had audio.

"Go away!" you said shakily, pressing your hands tightly against your eyes to protect from the blinding white. It suddenly blasted at you directly, and you shrunk away from it, pressing your hands tighter over your closed eyes.

"Get the flashlight out of her eyes, idiot!" said a voice. It took a moment for you to place it, because the voice was not Tori's or Jay's.

It was Sam's.

"Wait!" you cried out as Sam quickly unlocked the cage door. It swung open, and your stomach dropped. That had never happened before. The routine was gone.

"Can you walk?" Dean asked, his tone insistent.

"I…" you began, too tired to do much else. Already this was too much for one day; you'd used the last of your energy shying away from the white light. Sam bent down and scooped you up bridal style.

"We killed the woman and and man, but there could be more," Dean said, hurrying alongside as Sam carried you out of the cage.

"But…" you said, your voice trailing off as you craned your head to look back at where you knew the cage was. It was comfort, and you were leaving the comfort. It was familiarity, it was where you knew when exactly food would come.

Suddenly Dean's words clicked in your mind and you squirmed violently, trying to free yourself. Sam let out a surprised sound and you almost felt yourself drop free before he tightened his grip.

"You killed them?" you rasped. You hadn't talked this much or loudly in months and it ripped at your throat. "Tori too?!"

"Yeah, ganked 'em," Dean said as Sam continued to carry you down the path.

You let yourself be carried, feeling slightly shocked. Tori was dead.

"No," you whispered, feeling broken.

Without warning, there was an explosion of pain in your eyes. You clapped a hand to them, squeezing them tightly shut.

But then your battle with exhaustion won over, and the white light that was penetrating your retinas turned to black.

* * *

"We should bring her to a hospital."

"We can't bring her to a hospital. They'll ask too many questions about why she's been nearly starved to death-"

"Exactly, she needs medical help, Dean. Look at her - she's lost at least twenty to thirty pounds, she's nearly dead-"

"We'll take care of her."

You blinked your eyes open slowly.

It was an ugly motel room, but at the same time the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. The shapes, the outlines of objects, the colors. It all came in at a rush and you closed your eyes, overwhelmed. The bed was soft and warm; so very different from the cold rock you'd gotten accustomed to.

"Sam? Dean?" you croaked, your voice cracked.

"Hey," Sam said, coming over and sitting at the edge of the bed. "How you doing?"

You pulled the blankets up around you tightly. "Ten and a half months," you whispered. "Why didn't you come for me?"

Deep down, you knew why. Tori had explained it to you. You were expendable, and certainly not a part of their family.

"We did come," Dean said, his voice stony. "We came after two and a half days. It took us a bit longer to get Cas to help us, since you were downstairs."

You shook your head. "No, it was… ten and a half months." You were feeling bewildered now, wondering if you were dreaming.

"Time goes differently in Hell," Sam said gently. "It's only been two and a half days."

"What happened? What'd those sons of bitches do to you?" Dean asked, standing up sharply.

"Dean, maybe not yet," Sam began, but you cut him off.

"It's fine," you said, lowering your eyes. "They treated me nicely. They didn't even hurt me."

"Nicely? They had you in a pitch black, cold cage for nearly a year," Dean said angrily. "Did they even feed you at all?"

You nodded emphatically. "They never missed a meal. Every three days, thirty-seven minutes after dawn, they'd bring me oatmeal and water."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look, and it irritated you.

"What the hell?" Dean said quietly to Sam. "What's with the 'it's okay' attitude?"

"Stockholm syndrome?" Sam said under his voice, shrugging. You threw the blankets off, heated.

"I can hear you," you said, sitting up. "And I'm leaving now. I'm done. Tori told me. You guys… aren't my family. And I'm not yours. It's not fair for me to be living with you."

Dean stood as well. "You're not going anywhere."

You looked at him angrily. "Try me." You threw your feet over the edge of the bed and stood. Sam looked like he wanted to lean over and help you, but one look at him and he didn't move.

"They're just going to find you again, Y/N," Sam said. "We can keep you safe."

"Yeah, but-" You struggled for words. "But… it's just that… I'm a - I mean, I'm…"  
"Yeah? Spit it out," Dean said, his voice a bit less angry.

"Look. I know that you guys are really close, and I don't want to come between you. I just think that it would be better if I'm on my own." You shifted uncomfortably. "We all know that I'm only staying with you because I'm helpful for this war."

Sam's forehead creased. "Y/N, that might have been true when we first met you. But now, you're part of the family. And to be honest, I didn't really realize that until that demon took you. You're like a little sister to me."

You lifted your eyes to meet his. "Really?"

"We were both worried," Dean cut in. "You're not just a weapon, Y/N. We care about you, and personally it's pretty cool having a girl around."

You wiped your eyes quickly. "Thanks, guys."

"Here. Drink some water," Dean said, handing you a bottle with a straw on it. You accepted it gratefully and took a sip.

"You should eat, too," Sam said, and in true Winchester cooking style he grabbed a granola bar from the counter.

You shook your head. "I'm not hungry," you said, which was perfectly true.

"Yeah, but if you didn't notice, you're starving to death," Dean said, shoving it into your hands. "At least eat half."

You obliged reluctantly and chewed the granola bar with disdain. "Happy?" you asked once barely half was gone.

"Not really," Dean snorted. "Stay in bed, get some rest. I'm going to go out and make a food run. Stay with her, Sam."

Sam nodded. You wanted to stay up and talk, but the warmth of the bed was making you so tired that you could hardly keep your eyes open.

* * *

You woke up to the sound of Sam swearing. You opened your eyes curiously; Sam didn't swear so vividly very often.

"What is it?" you asked, dazed, pushing yourself onto your elbows. Immediately, the cold of the motel room hit you, and you exhaled to see your breath in the air.

"Just our luck," Sam said, cursing again. "There's a ghost in here. And Dean's not back. All of the guns are in the trunk."

"Crap. Is there any salt at all?" you asked.

Sam held up a nearly empty container. "We used almost all of this up salting the doors and windows," he said. "I've already called Dean and he's on his way back. Should be here in ten."

The cupboards of the kitchenette suddenly slammed open and closed, making you flinch. Sam stood next to you, holding the small amount of salt like a weapon. You climbed out of bed and stood next to him.

"You okay?" Sam asked, giving you a once over.

"Yeah," you said, even though your legs felt like they were burning. Pins and needles ran up and down them, and you knew that running wouldn't be an option. The muscles shook in protest and it annoyed you, how weak your legs felt, so you opted to ignore it.

"Duck!" Sam yelled suddenly as several plates came flying out of the cupboards and at your heads. You probably wouldn't have made it down in time but Sam pushed you down with him. The plates flew over your heads and shattered against the wall.

"Is there any iron?" you asked, shouting above the volume of the cupboards, which were opening and closing at rapid fire.

"It's all in the trunk," Sam responded, and you both ducked your heads as another plate flew at you.

The sudden image of a man, wearing bloody pajamas, flickered in front of you. His teeth were bloody and there was a massive bruise on the side of his head. Even worse, his neck was severed slightly so that his head hung at an angle.

"You killed my friend," he whispered, and with a surge of force the table suddenly lifted up and flew at you and Sam.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Guess what! I'm not dead!_ _I didn't want to start this chapter and then not finish, so I just decided to publish a short one, since it's been so long since I've updated this. I'm so, so sorry to everyone who's been waiting for so long. Life has been crazy, because I'm going into my senior year and I've been extremely busy with college applications and other stuff. Anyway, enjoy this short segment!_

You jolted awake, drawing in a sharp breath. The table that was about to hit you and Sam, the one the ghost flew across the room, it had felt so real.

The motel still stunk of moth balls. Sam and Dean were in the other bed, with several pillows wedged in between them to terminate any risk of their legs touching. You closed your eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but now the motor was running on the mini fridge and it was keeping you awake. You swung your legs out of bed, taking a full thirty seconds just to get up; Sam and Dean were such light sleepers that the slightest creak would have them jumping up with knives in their hands.

You grabbed your waterbottle off of your nightstand and quietly opened the front motel door.

 _I promise not to be stupid_ , you remembered telling Sam and Dean before leaving for the disastrous werewolf hunt, which now felt like an era ago. Smiling slightly, you groped in Dean's bag for a weapon - it didn't take long to find one - and slipped out the door.

The moon was bright. Not a full moon, but almost; it lit up the parking lot like a nightlight. You sipped at your water and tilted your head back at the sky.

 _Mom, Dad, I miss you._

It didn't sting anymore. Your memories of them were like a faded photograph; clear enough, but not quite so vivid. It was a bittersweet feeling.

The door opened behind you and you jumped.

"Sam," you said, scooting over. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No. Dean started snoring in his sleep," Sam said, settling next to you. "And then I saw you were missing from your bed."

"Sorry," you said again, looking purposefully down at your feet.

"I've been thinking about what you said." Sam tapped his fingers against his knee distractedly. "About you being only useful for us, and not part of the family."

"Yeah," you said, unsure of how to answer.

"I just want to make sure that it's clear to you. Y/N, you're a Winchester. I _think_ of you as a Winchester. Hell, there are more people I consider family that I'm not actually related to than there are people who are actually family. Bobby, Cas, Charlie, Garth, Jody, Donna… and you. I wasn't lying when I said you're like a little sister to me."

"I know," you said, and you were suddenly glad it was nighttime or else your cheeks would have been glowing like Rudolph's nose. "And you guys are like big brothers to me."

"I have something for you," Sam said, digging in his pocket. He produced a small silver bracelet. It seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. "This was our mom's. Dean and I thought you should have it. It's been in the trunk of the Impala for ages."

"Sam, I couldn't-" you began, but Sam cut you off.

"Really. No one deserves it more than you. We want you to have it, because you're our little sister," he said.

You slowly accepted the bracelet, smiling widely. "It fits perfectly," you said, showing him. He pulled you into a hug.

"Thanks, Sam," you said into his shoulder. He squeezed you tightly in response.

* * *

 **One year later**

"Dean!" you shouted, storming out of the bunker bathroom. "That's _disgusting_!"

"What?"

You had hastily wrapped your bathrobe around you just to come to the living room to yell at him. "What?" you repeated. " _What_ is that you didn't flush!"

"I like to save water."

"It's nasty. I'm not going back in there," you said, glowering at him.

"Okay." Dean propped his feet up onto the coffee table and picked up a magazine with a half-naked girl on it.

"That means I'm not flushing it for you!" you added.

"Okay."

You turned on your heel in frustration to go back to the bathroom and flush it yourself. Over the past year you hadn't been afraid to treat Sam and Dean like brothers, ever since they actually started treating you like a sister - pranking you, laughing at you, and making you one of the group. Of course, it was reciprocal, and now you weren't afraid to yell at Dean for being gross, which seemed to be two thirds of the time.

You took a long shower, basking in the hot water. It was Sam's night to cook, so you didn't need to worry about dinner prep. There hadn't been a hunt in a week and nothing on the news indicated the end of the world, so it had been like a mini-vacation the past few days. Of course, that was a recipe for a restless Dean, but you liked having a short break. As fun as hunting was, it could be terrifying, exhausting, and painful.

Time freezing turned out to be much harder than you thought. The most you could freeze time for was about ten seconds before nearly passing out from pain in your head, so you didn't often like to freeze it. The war was quiet - no news from Crowley - so the only hunts you'd been on lately were run-of-the-mill ones.

You emerged from the steamy bathroom feeling pleasantly clean and cozy in your new flannel pajamas. Well, they weren't exactly _new_ , because they were just hand-me-downs. Dean had an old flannel from when he was in high school that he still had in the depths of the Impala, and you were wearing old pajama bottoms from a bag of clothing that Charlie had given you the last time she had dropped by. But they were new to you.

"We should go to Europe," you said, flopping down on the couch next to Dean. You sniffed the air; it smelled good. "What's for dinner?" you asked Sam, who was reading in the chair next to the couch.

"Frozen pizza."

"Okay," you said, and then nudged Dean. "Boss? I think we should go to Europe."

Dean snorted. "With all the money we have?"

"You realize that we have an angel friend who could take us there for free."

"Cas isn't an airplane to take us wherever we want," Dean said. "I'm happy here."

You rolled your eyes. "You're so narrow minded. We could go _anywhere_ in the world, and yet you and Sam continue to choose to hunt right here in Middle-of-Nowhere, Kansas."

"There's no shortage of ghosts and vamps," he said, not lifting his eyes from his magazine.

"Yes, because we're so preoccupied with hunts right now," you said dryly.

"You bored?" Sam asked from the chair. "I thought you loved the vacation."

"I do! I just think we should travel somewhere!"

"I like traveling in Baby only," Dean said, casually flipping his magazine. You sighed. Sam and Dean could be so _stubborn_.

"Can I at least find a hunt that's far away?" you asked, reaching for your laptop. You'd bought it with your own money last spring.

"Go for it."

You glared at Dean and his stupid lack of enthusiasm before scrolling through news reports in Alaska, keeping your laptop pointed away so that neither of the brothers would be able to see where you were looking.

Your phone rang before you could find anything of interest in Alaska. You picked it up, not recognizing the phone number.

"Hello?" you said.

"Y/N?"

You stood up so quickly that your laptop fell to the floor. "Cas?"

"Y/N, I need you. Sam and Dean. I… I think I'm unwell." Cas's voice was deeper than usual, with grit, as though he were grinding his teeth.

"Are you hurt? Cas, where are you?"

"Underground. Beneath a hot dog."

"A hot dog? Cas, tell me-"

"Ten seconds!" barked a voice in the background.

"Beneath a hot dog," Cas confirmed. "Concord, New Hampshire. I need-"

The line cut out. You slowly dropped the phone. Sam and Dean were staring at you with apprehension.

"Cas is in trouble," you said. "I think he's a hostage or something. He sounded hurt."

"Well, let's go," Dean said, throwing down his magazine. "I'll pack the holy water and shit. Sam, you get the guns."

"Hang on!" you said. Dean looked at you as though you were crazy.

"Cas is in trouble, you said. So let's get a move on," Dean said firmly. "I'm not going to wait until he gets killed."

"Yeah, but the person holding him hostage said 'ten seconds' in the background. I think, wherever he was, he was allowed to have a phone call and talk to us."

"So?"  
 **"** So it could be a trap," Sam cut in. "Y/N's right. Who would just let their hostage tell us where they're being kept?"

"I don't know, but I'll murder them anyway," Dean said, turning his back.

"Maybe we should investigate first-"

"Sam, Cas is hurt. It doesn't matter if it's a trap. What matters is saving him, like he's done for us a thousand damn times," Dean said stiffly. You watched them nervously.

"We're not going to do Cas any good if we're dead."

"And we're not going to do him any good if he's dead. We're going, now."

For a moment you thought that they were going to have a blow-up argument. Sam looked ready to push the issue, but Dean said, "And if you're staying behind to plan more, then we're splitting. End of story. I'm not waiting for you."

Sam hated splitting up, you knew, and that was the final straw, because he ran a hand through his hair and followed his brother. You tentatively followed, too, feeling a sense of dread in your chest. Whatever was happening, it had to be a trap.


	13. Chapter 13

"There's a diner with a giant hot dog on top of it," you reported halfway through Iowa. "That's got to be where Cas is. He said he was trapped under a hot dog." You paused. "Remind me why we're not taking an airplane."

"Don't question it," Sam said quickly.

"We'll be there soon enough," Dean said, his teeth gritted. "If we didn't stop driving at all, my guess is that we'd be there at two tomorrow afternoon."

"No," you said, peering at your phone. "The GPS says that we'd get there at four in the afternoon."

"What - why the hell are you using that?" Dean demanded, twisting around in his seat.

"Because it's accurate. And take that exit!" you added. Dean swerved and narrowly missed the highway exit. "Without it, we'd still be going down that highway and adding thirty minutes to our journey."

You grinned to yourself as Dean grumbled inaudibly from the front.

"Four without stopping?" Sam asked. "We'll take it in turns driving. We'll have to stop for bathroom breaks and food, but we should make it there by six, then."

You tapped your foot anxiously in the backseat. If it was your way, you would have bought plane tickets, but Sam and Dean wouldn't go for it. It wasn't helping that you were feeling car sick after several hours of nonstop riding in the backseat over rural midwest roads. Of course, worst of all was the fear in the pit of your stomach for Cas. He was hurt, you were sure, but still… what if it was all a trap? You had tried praying to Cas, and Sam and Dean had called him several times, but there had been no answer.

It was dark out when you finally crossed into Illinois. Dean was still behind the wheel, refusing to give the Impala to Sam with the claim that he was energized by the driving. To your relief, he pulled over at a convenience store and handed you twenty dollars.

"Get something good for each of us. I want three slices of pizza and a pie. If there's no pie, go for the peanut butter cups."

"If there are any pre-packaged salads I'll take one of those," Sam said helpfully.

"On it," you said, and went into the store.

It was bright. You blinked; for the past hour the only light you'd seen was from passing streetlights. The convenience store was large, and sure enough there were pre-packaged meals in a cooler. You picked out a large garden salad for Sam, and found a smaller garden salad for yourself.

There was a spinning rack of pizza slices as well. You approached the case, wrinkling your nose at the greasy strips of cheese. The repulsiveness of it suddenly brought to mind the unflushed toilet Dean had left for you the other day. Smirking, you returned to the salads, and grabbed a third garden salad along with three packets of balsamic dressing.

There weren't any pies, but you did grab a peanut butter cup for Dean. As much as you wanted to buy him vegan crackers for dessert, even you couldn't be that mean to him. The cashier rang you up and you left the store with the three salads.

"For you," you said, handing Sam has large salad. "For me." You took out the small salad and propped it up on your lap.

"And pizza," Dean said, grinning. "I love a good slice of-"

You pulled out the garden salad. Dean's smile slid off of his face so quickly that you had to cover your hand over your mouth to not laugh.

"What the hell is that?" He grabbed the salad out of your hand. "I said pizza, not salad!"

"And I asked you to flush the stupid toilet."

"You're going to pay for this," he warned. "I can't believe you wasted my hard earned money on this shit."

"It's good for you," you said. "Maybe you'll like it, if you give it a try."

"I've tried it before," he grumbled. "And if I had more money I'd go back in there to get my pizza. I swear, Y/N, the next time you do something like this-"

"They didn't have pie, but I grabbed you peanut butter cups," you said, offering it to him. "See? I'm nice."

He glared at you and took the peanut butter cups. "Not cool, Y/N. And stop laughing, Sam. You're encouraging her."

Sam forced the smile away. "Dean, focus, we need to help Cas."

"Oh, real funny. You two are just hilarious." Dean angrily stuck his fork into the salad and took a bite.

You must have fallen asleep after finishing dinner, because suddenly you were blinking awake to the sound of a car laying on its horn.

"Dude, go faster," Dean was saying to Sam. "We wouldn't be getting honked at if you were going granny speed."

"I can't go any faster, Dean, we're in a _traffic jam_."

"Then pass them!"

"Yeah, I would if there wasn't a pickup truck in front of me."

You settled back into your seat. Dean tended to have a bit of road rage in the city, so you were glad it was Sam that was driving. Otherwise you seriously doubted that you would all three make it out of the city unscathed.

"Where are we?" you asked, leaning to look out the window.

"Cleveland," Sam told you.

"Last time we were here was on a zombie hunt." Dean grinned back at you. "Sam was sixteen. He ended up at the bottom of a dried up pond covered in maggots and guts. It's a long story. Remember that, Sammy?"

"Vividly."

Your phone suddenly rang again. You picked it up, looking at the number suspiciously - it was the same one that Cas had called from yesterday.

"Hello?" you said. "Cas?"

There was silence on the other end except for ragged breathing.

"Cas?" you tried again.

"Y/N. Where… are you coming? Where are you?" His words were slurred and slow.

"We're on our way. We're in Cleveland. Can you tell me anything else? Who's hurting you? Where exactly are you underground?"

"Can't… say. Help."

"I know. Hang in there, Cas, we're coming," you said, and then looked at Sam and Dean helplessly. "What do I ask?"

"Ask him again who has him." Dean was watching you intently, his knuckles white on the edge of his seat.

"Who has you?" you said. "What do they look like? Do you know anything?"

"They're bad. Bad people," Cas said.

"Okay. We'll be there as soon as we can. Stay safe," you said, and then the receiver clicked.

"Why did he call again?" you said, panicking slightly. "Why would his captives let him call us again? Dean, I don't think we should go right in there. This is obviously a trap."

"Yeah, it is, but Cas's life is obviously at risk too. We're not going to save our own hides and let him die because we're too wimpy to storm this evil son of a bitch's lair. Got it?" Dean turned on Sam. "And drive faster!"

* * *

The Impala rolled into the dusty parking lot of Paul's Hot Dogs at five in the evening the next day. You were driving; Sam and Dean were passed out, having driven most of the way. Dean finally trusted you enough to drive while he slept, which was surprisingly a large milestone for you, since it had taken so long.

"We're here," you said, turning off the ignition. "Welcome to Paul's Hot Dogs. It looks really evil."

The diner was lit up with bright yellow lights. Families were streaming in and out and there was a giant smiling hot dog perched on the roof of the building.

"Alright. Guns blazing?" Dean asked, pulling his shotgun from the backseat. "Let's do this." He got out of the car and went to the trunk, rummaging for weapons.

"Sam," you said tentatively, unbuckling yourself from your seat. "I don't think we should all go in at once."

"Splitting up doesn't usually work either, Y/N."

"Yeah, but if this is a trap - which I'm pretty sure it is - then we need to rescue Cas but also not all three get in trouble at once. One or two of us should go, test the waters, then we all go in."

Sam watched you intently. "You're saying that it's better one or two of us gets killed instead of all three."

"Well, yeah. Thanks for putting it so bluntly. But we're not doing Cas any good if all of us are dead."

Sam exhaled. "Dean, Y/N's right. This is a trap and we can't just storm in there."

Dean emerged from behind the trunk. "And why the hell not? Cas has done more for us than anyone else. We're not-"

"I already heard what you think. And I say we go in staggered. If one of us runs into trouble, then the others will know to be extra cautious."

"How about we all go in extra cautious anyway? Problem solved." Dean slammed the lid of the trunk down. "He's my best friend, Sam. I'm not letting him down."  
 **"** And we're not going to let him down," Sam insisted. "You're not realizing that we could be doing him more harm than good by all three of us going in at once."

"Or we'll get picked off one by one because there will be three monsters. Did you think of that, Sam? What if there's a fight, and we lose because it's one on three instead of three on three? Strength comes in numbers."

"I know that, but-"

"Dad always said to never split up. What the hell happens every time that we split? The plan goes to shit. Separating _never works_." Dean's voice was growing into a shout. You stayed several feet back, unsure of whether to join in the increasingly angry conversation.

"Separating doesn't work on a normal hunt. When we know it's a trap, we can use it to our advantage," Sam said. He took a step closer to Dean, and you were slightly terrified to see how both were standing tall, as though ready to fight one another.

"I'm the older one. I say what goes. This isn't up for discussion."

Sam laughed, but it was devoid of amusement. "You're _older_? Come on, Dean, cut the crap. That hasn't been a valid argument since we were preteens."

"You're selfish, Sam."

"Selfish? How the hell am I selfish?" Sam got even closer to Dean. You watched nervously, holding your arms against your torso. The brothers rarely fought, but when they did, it made you feel sick to your stomach.

"You're risking Y/N's life just so we can investigate this hot dog place! That's how your selfish, Sam, because you're not thinking about her!"

 _Okay. Stepping in now._ You drew a sharp breath.

"I'm fine," you said loudly. "Actually, I thought we should split up, because-"

"No." Dean thrust his finger at you. "No way. You don't get a say in this, because you're a kid and we're the adults."

"But-"

"Hang on," Sam interrupted. "This was about Cas's life being at stake! And now you're saying that it's putting Y/N's life at stake. I mean, I care about them, and I'd die for them both in an instant, but you can't just keep throwing around their lives like they're excuses."

"I care about both! I don't want Cas to die, and I don't want Y/N to either!" Dean shoved Sam backwards. "Is that so difficult to understand? We're going to save Cas, and I want to be there for Y/N in case things go to shit, which they always do!"

Sam pushed Dean back. "You going to get all tough guy on me, Dean? Shoving? Because we can fight. I know I could beat you."

"Okay! Stop it!" you yelled, stepping in between them. "Dean, I was the one to originally suggest splitting up. If you're going to get mad at anyone, get mad at me." You turned to Sam. "Sam, I'm glad you're on my side, but don't push back. And stop with your own tough guy act. I'm sure we all know that you're both perfectly capable of beating each other up." You reached into the trunk and handed them both their guns. "Every second we stand outside this stupid place is another second that Cas needs help down there. So I'm going, whether you two follow me or not."

You marched away, tempted to look back but refraining from doing so. There was silence behind you for a few seconds, and then you could hear their footsteps.

 _I knew they wouldn't let me go in alone._

"We're coming, Cas," you murmured to no one in particular, swinging the glass door of the diner open with your gun tucked away in your pocket. "Hang in there."

* * *

 _Imagine that! I uploaded twice in one week!_

 _Thanks for reading this far. I kind of write this for myself (I tend to imagine the reader with my own personality) so I apologize if it's not really matching what you would envision yourself doing in these situations._

 _Either way, I'd be really grateful if you could please leave a review. I feel bad asking, but it really does help to keep me going when I know that there are readers who are actually enjoying what I put on here. Validation is definitely inspiring!  
Again, thank you to all my readers, and I hope to publish another chapter soon. _


	14. Chapter 14

"Three?" the hostess asked when you walked into the diner with Sam and Dean behind you. Her hair was dyed white, and she had heavy eyeliner.

"Yes, thank you," you answered, smiling at her. She seated you at a small table, dropped three wrinkled, greasy menus on the table, and left.

"Okay." Sam glanced back at the waitress, who was busy with another family. "We need to find the basement."

"The door's in the kitchen, I bet," you said, pushing back your chair. "So, what? Do we just walk in?"

"They'll stop us," Dean said, shaking his head. "We need to get everyone out of here."

"So, what? Fire alarm?"

Sam scanned the diner. "No…" he said slowly, turning to you. "Y/N, you up for a little distracting?"

Your mouth went dry. "Uh, Sam, there's a reason that I was never the lead role in drama club. Besides, even if I distract everyone and you two slip in, how will I get past everyone and follow you?"

Sam and Dean exchange a look, and you didn't like it.

"Look," Dean said. "We'd rather you stay up here. It's going to be a trap, I think all three of us know that by now. But we need to save Cas. You stay up here and have the car ready to go in case we need to make a quick escape."

You glared at him. "Really, Dean? I'm going to be the bench warmer? No way."

 _What happened to Sam and Dean being mad at each other? I like Sam being on my side much more than them ganging up on me._

"You're seventeen."

"Going on eighteen," you reminded him. "Almost an adult."

"Yeah, but you're…" Dean waved his hand vaguely at you. "You're little. Short. Throwable."

"Excuse me?" You stood up. "I'm done with this conversation. We're all three going."

"We can't stop her, Dean, she's been on enough hunts with us," Sam said, sighing.

 _Yes. Thank you, Sam._

Dean considered Sam for a full ten seconds, then pulled his gun out of his back pocket.

"Everyone listen up!" he shouted. The diner fell deadly quiet. The clatter of forks was silenced, the movement in the kitchen had stopped, and now only the sound of food sizzling remained.

Dean paused, waiting, and then fired at the ceiling. Pandemonium erupted, and people ran out of the diner so quickly that it was vacated within twenty seconds. The people in the kitchen, left, too, you saw, leaving an empty diner.

"They'll be calling the cops now," you reminded Sam and Dean. "Let's go."

The basement door wasn't hard to find. It was in the front of the kitchen, and aptly labeled "CELLAR" right on the door. You opened it cautiously; rickety stairs led down to a dimly lit room. You took the first step down when Dean pushed you back.

"You're in between us, Shorty," he said.

You rolled your eyes but followed him down the steps, hoping desperately to see the brown trench coat and find Cas immediately.

Cas wasn't in the first room of the cellar. Only food was down here - boxes of unopened bread and rolls that the cooks likely stored down here to save space.

"Cas?" you whispered, but it was to no avail. There was no answer.

"Something's not right," Sam said. "Do you hear that?"

You strained your ears. "Hear what?"

"It's a high pitched sound. Like a tinkling sort of…" Sam tilted his head to the side. "I think it's below us."

You bent onto the floorboards, knocking softly on them. "It sounds like there's another room beneath us," you said. "There's got to be a way to-"

The slamming of the basement door made you jump. A cold draft crept into the room, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.

"Ghost," Dean said, cocking his gun. "Good thing we brought salt rounds."

You turned to the closet door behind you. "Guys?" you said, twisting the knob. "What if Cas isn't even here-"

You screamed when the door opened; there was a woman inside, and she lunged at you. You fell to the floor, with her on top of you, and she pressed a cloth to your face. You rolled away, coughing, and shot salt at her; she flickered and disappeared.

"Y/N!" Sam had shouted, and Dean was at your side immediately.

The world was spinning and darkening at the edges of your vision. You fell to your knees, and then everything went black.

* * *

Something was cutting into your ribcage. You opened your eyes, which took more energy than you would have liked. Your thoughts felt fogged, as though a mist had shrouded over you head. The room felt slightly tilted, and spinning very slowly. It made you want to throw up.

"She's up," Sam said from your left.

"I hate chloroform," you whispered, willing yourself to not throw up. You were tied up against a support post in the basement. Sam was also tied up, about ten feet away.

"That bitch," Dean said from your right. He too was tied against a pole and he looked ready to murder someone. "Only the cowards use chloroform. She got us, too, about ten seconds after you passed out."

"What time is it?" you asked.

Sam shook his head. "She took my watch off of me. And, uh, some other stuff too."

Only then did you notice his shoes and flannel were gone, as were Dean's. They were both left in their tee shirt and jeans. The jacket you had been wearing was gone, and so were your Converse sneakers; mercifully she hadn't taken your pants or shirt. The backpacks you had all three were wearing were gone as well.

"She frisked us!" you said indignantly. "My _book_ was in my backpack!"

"Why the hell did you bring your book on a hunt?" Dean asked.

"Just in case we got bored or something. I don't know." Heat rose into your cheeks. "I was at a good part, okay?"

"Whatever." Dean rubbed his arms up and down vigorously against the back of the pole.

"Nothing's going to happen, Dean. It's a thick rope," Sam said. "I woke up about an hour before you did and I tried the whole time. It's fruitless."

"Sam? Dean? Y/N?" The familiar gravelly voice drifted down the stairs.

"Cas!" you said, your face lighting up. "Where are you?"

"Coming." His footsteps started to come down the stairs.

"What a terrific rescue team we are," Dean muttered. "Sorry, Cas, we didn't mean for the ghost to get the jump on us. Have you seen her?"

But the figure that came down the stairs wasn't wearing a trench coat. There was no familiar dark hair, or piercing blue eyes.

"Yes, I've seen her," the ghost said, gliding towards them with Cas's voice. "She's right here."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the ghost. "What are you?"  
 **"** An impersonator," the ghost said in Cas's voice. "Seeking revenge on three stupid hunters," she added, this time in Sam's voice. Goosebumps ran up your arms.

"Get it over with," Dean said flatly. "What, did we gank your ghost friends or something?"  
The ghost answered in Dean's voice. "You killed me."

"We've killed lots of people." Dean stared at the ghost impassively. "If we killed you, I'm sure we had reason."

"I was innocent!" the ghost screamed, this time in what must have been her own voice, because it was shrill and wobbling. "Clinton, New York. 2001."

Sam remembered first. "The hunt at the college," he said. "Hamilton College. Dean, we set the theatre on fire."

"Oh." Dean didn't move his eyes from the ghost. "I'm sorry for what happened. Really, I am. You didn't deserve to die."

"I was an actress," the ghost continued. "I was going to be a voice actor. Then you two came along and burned down the theatre while I was in it."

"We were hunting something evil. Sometimes innocent people are in the wrong place at the wrong time," Dean said, his voice more gentle.

"Wrong place at the wrong time? That's all my death was to you?" The ghost turned her back on them. "And then some stupid man came and took my ring. It was my mother's wedding ring. He came here, dropped it and forgot about it, and now my spirit's tied to this place. _All because of you_."

"They didn't mean to kill you," you said. "I'm so sorry you died. You didn't deserve it, nor did anyone else who died that day." You felt Sam and Dean's eyes on you but tried to focus on the ghost, who had turned her gaze directly to your face. "They're good people. They didn't mean to hurt you."

The ghost suddenly adopted your voice. "But they did," she said. You cringed at the sound of your own voice echoing through the basement. "They did kill me, and I can't rest in peace until my business here is done."

"What's your business here?" you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear the answer.

The ghost smiled. "To give you sadness, pain, and fear," she said. "I have a prophecy for the three of you. And it will only bring you doom."

"What, you're not here to kill us?" Dean said. "Then what's the point?"

 _Dean, shut up,_ you pleaded silently.

The ghost flickered. "I was a theatre kid," she said, melancholy. "I like life to be poetic. Your tragedies will be poetic."

"What do you mean prophecy? You can't just see the future," Sam said.

"I have seen the future, Sam Winchester. I saw it, and it's not pretty." Her eyes turned to you. "Not pretty at all."

"Look, we came here to rescue our friend," you said. "Not to hear a prophecy. I don't care what happens in the future, I'd rather keep it unknown."

The ghost switched back to her Cas voice. It unnerved you, hearing the angel's stoic voice coming from the ghost's translucent body.

"I'll let you go," she said. "I promise." She knelt in the corner, rummaging in what you recognized as your backpack. "Whose phone is this?"

"Mine." Your mouth felt dry. "Why?"

"Record this." The ghost drifted over, freed the bindings from your wrists, and handed you your phone. The rope was still digging into your rib cage but it was much less suffocating to have your arms free.

"Really?" Dean sounded amused. "You're being all mystic, and you want to record this stupid thing on a phone?"

"I died in 2001, not 1850," the ghost snapped. "Humans have terrible memories."

You pressed record on the video. "Um, it's going."

"This is bullshit," you heard Dean mutter, just before the ghost started speaking in Sam's voice.

" _Despair shall consume your soul and mind,_

 _Ravage your thoughts, keep you behind."_

Her voice switched again, this time to Dean's gruff tone.

" _The one who is unafraid shall bow to fear,_

 _Terror will strike, soon and near."_

Once more the voice switched, and this time to your own voice. Your hand shook slightly as you held the video up to record the ghost.

" _Pain awaits, great and grim,_

 _Anguish comes, and light will dim."_

With that final line, the ghost vanished, and the ropes snapped around all three of you. You stood, uncomfortably shaking out the pins and needles in your feet.

"That was the weirdest thing I've ever seen," you said finally as you headed up the stairs.

"It was bullshit. We're going to forget it, because otherwise we're going to worry over it," Dean said, assertively swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "The ghost wanted to scare us, that was all."

"I don't know, Dean, maybe she did know something-"

"We're going to forget it," Dean said again, firmly. "If it's the future, there's nothing we can do anyway, right?" He grinned.

"Uh… the cops are here," you said, listening to the sound of sirens from up above. "Your little gun show didn't exactly fly under the radar, Dean."

"It got us into the basement, didn't it?"

"Which led to nothing but several hours wasted being tied to a pole. And, by the way, Cas wasn't here and never was." Sam shook his head. "Damn ghost."

"While we're in New Hampshire, we can do some hunts up here, right?" you asked. "I'm getting sick of all the midwest. It's too flat."

The three of you peered out the basement door.

"Good thing you parked the Impala out back," Sam whispered. There were cops all in the dining area, but none in the kitchen. "Let's go."

You ducked your heads and snuck out the back of the diner, wasting no time in getting into the car and swerving out of the lot.

"Where to?" Dean asked.

"We could go to Vermont," you started to suggest, but Dean patted the dashboard loudly.

"What's that, Baby? You want to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?" Dean leaned his ear towards the car.

"Hall of Fame?" you protested. "You want to drive to Cleveland just for music?"

"Well, someone's done their research on rock 'n' roll," Dean said, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. Baby sped up and the trees became blurs out of the corner of your eye.

"Fine," you said, looking glumly out the window. "We'll leave New England as soon as we've arrived here."

No more than ten seconds had passed after you said that, before Dean's phone rang. He picked it up as he drove with one hand laying leisurely on the wheel.

"Hey. Yeah, we're actually in New Hampshire now. Why?" There was a pause. "Thanks, Jody." He hung up the phone and put the brakes on.

"What is it?" Sam asked as Dean made a sharp U-turn on the road.

"There's a hunt in Maine," he said, glancing back in the rearview mirror. "Looks like your wish came true, Y/N. We're staying in New England for a bit."

"Maine." The word felt strange in your mouth. Maine was where you grew up, where you lived, where you were with family - until Crowley killed them and you went on the road with Sam and Dean.

You pushed away the sentiment. "Maine, the way life should be," you said, smiling widely as the Impala accelerated towards the pine tree state.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm very grateful for any reviews :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I really liked the plotline in 14x8 "Byzantium", so that's where the plot of this chapter comes from…**

 **Also, just in case there was confusion from the last chapter… the "impersonator" can impersonate anyone, even if she hadn't met them, so Cas is perfectly safe and was never at the diner :) sorry that I didn't make that very clear!**

* * *

Maine turned out to be much hotter than you expected. It was mid-August, and the turnpike was busy with tourists as you, Sam, and Dean drove from New Hampshire into Maine.

Jody had told Dean that there were at least thirteen disappearances in Freeport within the past two weeks. Each person had been home alone and was never seen again, with absolutely no trace of having left their house or someone breaking in.

"Sounds like demons to me," you said immediately when Dean told you and Sam what Jody had found. "Ghosts can't travel all across one town that quickly, even if it was a cursed object."

"Unless the cursed object is money," Sam pointed out. "But even that wouldn't be very likely, because-"

"Dean! It's this exit!" you interrupted suddenly. Dean had grudgingly allowed you to be the navigator in the car, despite his constant reiteration that a "good ol' paper map" worked much better than a GPS. You suspected that he was just being stubborn, though, because he hadn't forced you to put away your GPS, nor had he bothered taking out the paper atlas since.

Freeport was packed with people shopping and strolling the streets. There was a residential neighborhood next to the town where six of the thirteen people had vanished, so that's where Sam had decided would be the best place to start. Lunch came first, though, so a half an hour after arriving you were sitting across from Sam and Dean at a small restaurant.

"FBI? Or reporters?" you asked, taking a sip of the butternut squash soup you had ordered. You were able to come along with Sam and Dean when they posed as professional investigators, calling yourself an intern. No one questioned it; though you looked young, you were old enough to theoretically have an internship.

"Reporters," Sam said. "The FBI might be a bit suspicious in this town."

"I'll wear my skirt and blazer, then," you said, reaching into the backpack you'd brought into the restaurant. "Be right back."

You quickly changed in the bathroom. Sam and Dean had given you money to buy yourself a couple of formal outfits to wear for hunts several months ago. They'd also given you a couple hundred to buy yourself your own clothing; apparently after seeing you wear their old bloody flannels that they didn't wear anymore had gotten old.

"Okay, I was thinking that we should check out a few houses today, speak to the owners, see if there's any connection," Sam said once you were back. "Dean, you should go to the most recent vic's house and talk with her husband. I'll go to the police station and see if I can dig anything up. Y/N, I want you to go to the best friend's house of the vic. Apparently the best friend was there an hour before the vic disappeared."

"Okie doke," you said, leaning back in your chair. "It feels good to be on a hunt."

"It shouldn't," said Dean, giving you his iconic death stare. "You should be cautious. Vigilant. Apprehensive. Got it?"

"Yeah, Dad, got it," you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

"Poised. Wary. Attentive," he continued.

"You know, I can enjoy myself and be all of those things at once," you said, grinning at Dean's irritation. It was really easy to get on his nerves, you had discovered. "So where are we meeting?"

Sam checked his watch. "Y/N, the vic's best friend lives a block away from the vic. We can meet at four at the edge of Forest Street. Dean, can you pick us up there?"

"Will do."

"Awesome." Sam pushed back his chair. "Let's do this."

* * *

The best friend of the most recent victim was a twenty-three year old woman named Ariana. You waved goodbye to Sam and Dean and then made your way up the driveway, taking careful looks at the house and yard. It was decorated with garden gnomes and pink flamingos.

You knocked on the door, and it didn't take long for a short red headed woman to open it up.

"Yes?" she said, looking you up and down with judgment. You shifted, uncomfortably aware of how young you looked, but mustered your most professional voice that you could.

"I'm Y/N Granger, an intern at the local newspaper. I'd like to speak with you about the recent disappearance of your friend, Maria Waters. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?" You smiled warmly. "It will only take a few minutes."

Ariana raised her eyebrows. "What newspaper?"

"The Coastal Journal," you said immediately. You'd googled local newspapers on your way here.

"Fine. Come in, then." Ariana opened the door just wide enough for you to slip through.

The inside of her house was decorated with pink and yellow walls. There were furry cushions on the couch and Polaroid pictures printed out and taped on the walls. Christmas lights were streamed from the cabinets in the kitchen to the grungy, magazine-strewn living room.

"Nice place you've got," you said out of obligation. "So, you live alone? Or…"

"That's none of your business," Ariana snapped, sitting down on the couch. You sat across from her in a tan chair.

"Of course," you said, biting your lip. "My apologies. Um… I guess… let's get started." You pulled out your pen and notebook. "What was Maria Waters like? Did she have any distinct personality traits or idiosyncrasies?"

"Idiosyncrasies? Okay, Einstein. You could have just asked what she was like."

"Sorry," you said again, keeping your tone as agreeable as possible. You gave her your best abashed expression. "I'm a new intern, so I haven't quite gotten the hang of this yet."

"Yeah, I can see that."

 _Ignore her. You'll never see her again once you've asked the questions._

"So," you continued. "What was Maria like?"

"Well, she was a pretty typical best friend. We gossiped, went shopping, did each other's hair… we did everything together." Ariana shrugged.

"Did she act strange before she disappeared? Or differently?"

"No. She was home alone, and I had just left her house. I went back a couple of hours later and she wasn't there. The doors were locked, no one was home, and she wasn't answering her phone."

You tapped your pen against your notebook. "Okay. What about her house? Did you notice anything out of place? There's been a couple of recent murders near her with sulfur, rats, and electrical problems…" Lying came so easily to you know that you barely even blinked while doing it. "Did you encounter any of those?"

"What are you saying? You think she was murdered? You're a freakin' reporter, not the FBI."

 _I knew we should have posed as the FBI._

"I know. But my newspaper covers crime," you said quickly. "So, were there any flickering lights? Rats in the walls? Cold drafts? Could you smell any rotten eggs?"

"Like I said, the doors were locked. I couldn't get in." Ariana spoke the words slowly as though she were speaking to a kindergartener. "Are you a reporter or a high school dropout?"

"Okay, come on," you said, throwing down your pen. "You can't even try to be nice, can you?"

"Damn. They didn't teach you professionalism, either, did they?" Ariana picked at one of her nails.

"I just have one more question," you said tightly. "Was there anyone that had reason to hurt Maria? Or do her any harm?"  
 **"** Can you please leave?" Ariana took a sip of her iced tea that was sitting on the coffee table next to her. "I'm getting bored."

"Answer my question, and I'll leave," you said, standing up.

"I'll tell your boss that you're being rude." Ariana stood up. "I could get you fired."

"Oh, no, please don't," you said dryly. "Now answer the question."

Ariana scowled. "You look like you're sixteen. Get out of my house, bitch."

"No. Answer the question."

Ariana suddenly swung her hand at you and slapped your face. You stumbled back, startled, but recovered quickly and pulled her into a headlock that Dean had taught you.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," you said. You'd learned how to be intimidating after the past year of running around with Sam and Dean. "Answer my question, and I'll let you go."

Ariana yelped. "I'm going to get you fired!"

"Yeah, good one. I'm not actually an intern. I'm…" You turned your voice into a whisper. " _An assassin_."

"Oh, God! Please don't kill me!"

 _This is much more like it._

You let her go, grinning. "I'm not an assassin," you said. "But call me a bitch again and I might just become one."

"Okay, fine! Everyone hated Maria! Everyone hates both of us!" Ariana spread her hands into the air. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"Yeah, actually. Thank you for your time." You stepped by her. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"No, you-" Ariana stopped herself. "Um, first door on the left."

"Thanks." You made your way down the hallway. "Oh, and by the way," you added, poking your head around the corner. "If my brothers saw you slap me, they would have done a lot more than I just did."

* * *

You beamed at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands in Ariana's bathroom. It wasn't usually you who did the "bad cop" routine, but when you were on your own, sometimes it was necessary. At least, you thought so.

 _Besides, I would never have actually hurt her._

The right side of your face was red from where Ariana had slapped you. You brushed the skin lightly.

"What a jerk," you muttered to yourself. "I swear, if you-"

There was a scream from outside the bathroom. You jumped to action, unlocking the door and skidding out into the hallway. In the living room was Ariana and…

 _Crowley?_

Crowley, dressed in black, was standing in Ariana's living room with his back turned to you.

"Scale says you're a bad egg," Crowley was saying. "Guess what, darling? You're joining the dream team."

"I don't want to die!"

"Oh, don't worry, you'll come back as a demon. I promise."

"Y/N!" Ariana suddenly screamed. "Call 911, there's a man in here!"

You saw Crowley's shoulders tense at your name and you flung yourself out of sight just before he turned around, as though he knew you were there. He whirled back around to Ariana and grabbed her shoulders.

"Y/N? Y/N who?" he asked, shaking her. "Does the name Winchester ring a bell?"

"What? No! Y/N Granger, her name's Y/N Granger!"

Crowley paused. "You're useless. But…" He contemplated her. "Your soul is evil enough. Come on, then, I'm taking you to my home."

"What? Where's your home?" Ariana asked him. You edged back out from behind the wall to see.

"Hell," Crowley said, as cheerfully as if he were saying he lived in Disney World. You saw Ariana's mouth open up to scream, but then they were both gone - vanished into thin air. You fumbled for your phone, typing in Sam's number as you ran out of Ariana's house.

"Sam!" you said when he picked up. "Are you done with the vic's house?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way to Ariana's. You find anything?"

"Yep." You drew in a breath. "It's Crowley. Crowley's behind the disappearances."

* * *

"No. Absolutely not."

Dean, as you had expected, reacted poorly to your news that Crowley was behind the disappearances. You told him that it sounded like Crowley was taking people with evil souls, and bringing them to hell to make them into demons, and immediately Dean had pulled the Impala over just to have a "talk" with you.

"I'm the one who found out it was Crowley! You can't just bench me, Dean!"

"Yes. I can, and I will. I'm your guardian."

"So is Sam." You turned to Sam. "Sam, shouldn't I be allowed? You guys wouldn't even know that it's Crowley if I wasn't on this hunt!"

Sam raised his hands. "Look, this is between you and Dean. I'm just…" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm going to go check out the area." He opened the Impala door and quickly left, strolling alongside the road with his hands in his pockets. You watched him leave with your mouth open.

"Y/N, it's not because I don't think you're capable," Dean said, a bit more gently. "But Crowley killed your family. He wants you for the war, which, by the way, is starting, if he's taking people to change them into demons."

Your anger flared. "The whole reason I'm hunting is for this stupid war. You guys _need_ me, apparently, but the war is only just starting and already you're going to sideline me?"

"Yeah. I am."

"I can freeze time! I can handle this just as well as you can!"

"Okay. Then freeze time for more than fifteen seconds without passing out."

You glared at him. "You're being really unfair, Dean."

"Am I?" Dean shrugged casually. "Too bad. I'm going to get a motel room and drop you off, and you can hang out there while Sam and I finish this."

"Good luck with that, because I'm not going to stay there."

"Fine. I'm going to get a motel room and handcuff you inside it."

"I'll just freeze time and knock you out first," you said defiantly, jutting out your chin and crossing your arms. "Just let me come, Dean, and make this whole thing easier without trying to play the helicopter parent."

"Helicopter parent?" Dean's voice lost its nonchalant tone quickly. "I'm not doing this just because I'm paranoid. Your _life_ is at stake every minute that you're close to Crowley, and I'm sure as hell not going to be risking it more by bringing you right into the thick of the hunt."

"You don't trust me!" you shouted. "Time after time I've proven myself, but it's _never_ enough for you!"

"This isn't a question of trust. It's a question of you getting killed."

"No, it's not." You gave him a steely look. "If you don't let me help, I'm going to-"

"You're what? You're what, Y/N? Huh? You going to storm off and do this hunt on your own? Because then you'd just be proving my point."

"What's the point?" you demanded. "That I can't be trusted?"  
 **"** No, that you're too young to make smart decisions, and you're going to get yourself killed."

"You don't know anything! You don't know what I've done! I've killed monsters, I put someone in a headlock today, and I saved you and Sam countless times!"

Dean started the Impala. "That's it. We're heading to the motel." He honked the horn, gesturing for Sam to get back in the car. Heat rose into your face.

"Bye, Dean," you said, opening the Impala door. "I'll see you when this hunt is over."

"Good one. You're not leaving on your own."

"Try me," you said, and slammed the door, marching away from the car.

"Y/N? Where are you going?" Sam asked as he came over to the car.

"I just need some air, Sam," you told him, walking down the road that led back to the town of Freeport. "I told Dean we'd meet up when the hunt is over."

Sam caught up with you. "Hey. You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Dean got pretty mad, then."

You didn't answer.

"Look," Sam said. "He's not being like this because he doesn't trust you, or thinks-"

"That I'm going to get myself killed?"

"Yeah. He's doing it because it's just his personality, Y/N. He's always been an overprotective big brother to me, and now that he has a little sister he's just going to be the same way."

"He lets you go on hunts. I've never seen him hold you back."

"That's because I'm older, Y/N. When I was your age, Dean and Dad would gang up on me and keep me from hunting. 'It's too dangerous, and I'm not risking you getting hurt', Dean would say. It pissed me off."

You laughed. "He does sound exactly the same."

Sam put his arm around your shoulder and squeezed you in to him. "Every time that he holds you back, it's only because he cares about you. Dean suppresses his emotions, so it's hard to tell sometimes, but he does."

"Thanks, Sam." You hugged him. "Does this mean I can come on the hunt?"

"Um, I'm going to leave that to Dean."

"Oh, come on. It's only going to be more dangerous for me if I sneak off to do this on my own," you said, putting on your most convincing tone. "Please?"

"Okay. I'll talk to him. But I can't promise anything," Sam said. You smiled at him gratefully, but your happiness didn't last long. As soon as you got back in the Impala, Dean's presence had dampened the mood. You ignored his snide comment about you taking off like a two year old and put in your earbuds instead.

Fifteen minutes later you pulled in to a grungy motel outside of Freeport. Dean went and got the key from the lobby while you and Sam waited in the car.

"So, what's on the agenda? Make plans in the motel room tonight and then confront Crowley tomorrow?" you asked, taking out your earbuds once Dean was gone.

"Probably. We could even try summoning him tonight."

"Summoning?"

"Yeah. It's a quick ritual. You've never been with us when we've done a summoning before, have you?"

"No." The thought of a summoning was exciting, but at the same time you were on edge. Crowley murdered your family, and you'd like nothing more than to shove a particularly sharp blade through his throat.

"Room 131," Dean said, opening up the Impala door and tossing the keys to Sam. The three of you got your duffels out of the trunk and headed toward the room.

"Um, so there's a bit of Latin involved for the summoning," Sam continued once you'd opened the door to the motel room. It was average, as far as rooms went; the blankets were a bit worn and the television outdated, but the wallpaper looked new and the carpets had a surprisingly small number of stains on it.

Sam went straight for his laptop, sitting down at the desk and starting a search. Dean took the duffel full of weapons and threw it onto the pillows of the bed.

"Y/N? Can you clean the weapons?" he asked. You gave him a dirty look, to which he added, "That's what you get for almost taking off today."

Sighing, you flung yourself onto the bed. The knives had dried blood on them, having been used for several hunts in a row without cleaning. The guns needed to be taken care of, too.

"So how exactly does the ritual work?" you asked, taking out the handkerchief and wiping down the first machete. The blood was stuck to it, so it took some elbow grease. "I mean, is Crowley _forced_ to appear when we summon him, or is it more like a phone call?"

You jumped as Dean grabbed your arm; he'd approached you silently.

"Hey!" you shouted as he smoothly latched his handcuffs around your wrist. You twisted back, kicking at him, but he dodged you and yanked your arm towards the bed post. "Dean, stop!" He nearly latched the other side of the handcuffs to the bed post, but you managed to squirm out of his grip. You rolled away and probably would've sprinted out the door - there was no _way_ you were going to let Dean do this - but you ran straight into Sam, who grabbed your handcuff and pulled you to the bedpost. Dean latched it quickly and pocketed the key.

"Sam!" Anger hadn't even set in yet; you were bewildered that Sam had helped Dean. Hadn't he said he would talk to his brother about letting you come? "I thought that-"

"Sorry, Y/N. Dean's right on this one," Sam said, avoiding eye contact with you. He ran a hand through his hair. "Dean, let's do this quickly."

"Do what quickly?" you demanded.

"Summon Crowley," Dean said, giving you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Really. This is just to keep you safe."

You yanked as hard as you could against the bed post, but it wouldn't give. "I'm not a monster for you to tie up! I'm your _sister_!" The last word came out cracked and you fought back hot tears.

"Dean, let's go," Sam said quietly, heaving his duffel over his shoulder. "Y/N, we'll be back before midnight."

"And what if you die? I'm going to be stuck here, handcuffed to this stupid bed!"

"Better than you bleeding out with Crowley's knife in your side," Dean said, and with that he left the motel room. Sam looked at you one last time before picking up the remote and turning on the television. You glared at him, refusing to even blink and his only response was to give a sheepish wave and follow Dean.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, the long-awaited war has begun, there's a looming prophecy, and you, my dear reader, are stuck handcuffed to the bed of a motel. Sorry about that.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are always always always welcomed :) thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** So, the long-awaited war has begun, there's a looming prophecy, and you, my dear reader, are stuck handcuffed to the bed of a motel. Sorry about that.

Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are always always always welcomed :) thanks for reading!

You sat there, fuming, with your wrist stuck in the handcuff.

They had planned this. You didn't know when or how, but they had. Sam had sat at the desk intentionally, so that you wouldn't. Dean had thrown the bag of weapons near the bed posts so that he could handcuff you.

 _They're traitors. Both of them are traitors._

"Don't leave me!" you screamed at them, hoping that they would hear, but you couldn't see out the window from the position that you were in.

 _How kind of Sam to think of me and turn on the television,_ you thought bitterly, tugging at the bondage. It was making your wrist sore. The Impala's engine roared distantly and you heard it fade unusually quickly; Dean was pressing flooring the gas, from what it sounded like. You put your feet on the edge of the bed post and pushed with all your might, trying to squeeze your hand out. The possibility of dislocating your thumb to escape, though, kept making you ease up at the last moment.

"Come on!" you yelled at nothing, kicking the edge of the bedpost. Your big toe throbbed painfully. "This isn't fair!"

 _No one can hear me_. You stared at the television sullenly.

 _Unless…_ You sat up so quickly that your head was jarred. Rubbing your temple, you tentatively spoke into the motel room. "Cas? Castiel?"  
Not a half a second later there was the familiar _whoosh_ of wings.

"Y/N," Cas said stoically, standing a stiff as a ruler. "What is it?"

"You came!" you said, relieved. "Cas, I need your help. Can you get me out of these handcuffs?"

"You're handcuffed?" Cas looked at you with confusion. "How did this happen?"

"Sam and Dean happened," you said angrily. "They think…" You sighed. "It doesn't matter. Can you just help me get out?"

Cas hesitated. "If Dean was the one to handcuff you, then I don't know if I should release you. I don't like his anger."

You put on your most pleading voice and expression. "Please, Cas! I'll make it up to you as soon as I can! Just let me out and I'll tell Dean I picked the lock; he'll never know that you were here."

"I suppose that-"

"And I promise that I'll buy you an ice cream tomorrow."

"I do not require sustenance."

"I know that, but ice cream's good. You'll love it," you said. "Please, Cas? Please please please?"

"I'll help," Cas decided, reaching towards the handcuffs. His hand glowed and with a small pop the handcuffs unlocked. You threw your arms around him, and after a moment he awkwardly placed his arms around you as well.

"Thank you, Cas! You're the best!" you said. "Really!"

"I wouldn't say that I'm the best."  
 **"** I would," you assured him, making a beeline for your bag and taking out your knife and gun. "Okay, I'm going to…" You trailed off. You had no car to drive and Sam and Dean hadn't taught you how to hijack a parked car. "Um, Cas? Can I ask you one more favor?"

* * *

Cas teleported the both of you directly into the backside of the Impala, which in turn made Dean almost swerve off the side of the road.

"Hi," you said cheerfully.

"Damn it! Cas, I've _told_ you-"

"Y/N pressured me. I had no part in this," Cas said, and without another word he vanished.

 _There goes my backup. At least Dean hasn't slammed on the brakes yet._

You swallowed hard and managed a smile at the brothers. "Um… sorry I'm fashionably late."

"You're not late," Dean said. Sam glanced at you and immediately averted his eyes when you made eye contact.

"I'm not?" You didn't like the sound of his voice.

"No." Dean smoothly turned the Impala down a side road. "I'm taking you back to the motel, and this time you're gonna stay because Sam and I are going to angel-proof it."

"Oh, come on!"

"Y/N, this isn't funny. You're under our protection and you do what we say. You've crossed the line this time." Dean was deadly serious. You felt a blush creeping up your neck.

"I'm sorry," you said sheepishly. "I just want to help so badly."

"Well, you're not helping. Sam and I need to find Crowley but instead we have to take you back to the motel room. Grow up and stop acting like a spoiled brat."

The words felt like a slap in the face. You fell silent; if you spoke, you weren't sure if your voice would be choked up, and you weren't about to show weakness to them.

The motel was only four minutes away. You obediently got out of the car, and only protested when Dean pulled the handcuffs out again.

"I got it! I'm not going to run away!" you promised them, holding up your hands. "I swear over… the Impala."

Sam cracked a smile behind Dean, but Dean didn't bat an eye. "I don't trust you."

 _Ow. That one hurt._ You sighed and held out your hands for Dean to handcuff you to the bed post again.

Once they left, burning hot tears clouded your vision. Your throat felt clogged, as though there was a plug in it, preventing you from breathing. Dean had never spoken to you like that before, and it was scary.

 _I've broken any sort of bond we had. I'm not their little sister anymore._

With those thoughts the tears spilled over completely. If only you could turn back time instead of freezing it; you would have remained where you were in the hotel room. Better to be out of the action and bored than to lose the trust of the Winchesters.

You tried to lift your arm to wipe the tears off of your cheeks, but it wasn't easy with the handcuffs. Futilely you dipped your head down to your shirt to wipe your face on your shoulders, but it didn't do much. You almost ventured to call Cas again, just for company, until you remembered Dean's assurance that he would angel-proof the motel room.

You listlessly jangled the cuffs and watched out the window. There was a family of six carrying luggage to the lobby of the motel, laughing and smiling.

"I miss you," you said aloud, imagining your family sitting next to you on the bed.

"I missed you too," said a deep voice from the other side of the bed. You twisted so quickly that your head jarred, and then your heart did a flip-flop.

"Crowley," you said, your voice squeaking slightly. You took a deep breath and composed yourself. "How'd you find me?"  
 **"** I have little birds that tell me when they see a '67 Impala roll through town," Crowley said simply. "And, of course, when I'm in the middle of a plan I can expect Moose and Squirrel to show up to get involved." He squinted at you. "And Rabbit, too, apparently."

"I'm going to kill you," you said, your voice shaking slightly. "I'm going to stab my knife through your heart."

"Yes. Very threatening. I'm terrified of handcuffed teenage girls."

"Take my handcuffs off and see how threatening I can be," you challenged him. "Prove that you're an actual king."

Crowley straightened his sleeves. "I'll politely decline that offer. I'm not stupid. I don't mess with time freezing." He placed his hand under his chin and gazed at you. "The way I see it, I can get you to fight for me and my demons, or I can just kill you."

 _Hey, Cas, I really need you right now_ , you thought desperately, but it was to no avail. Dean's angel-proofing had worked too well.

"Take your time deciding," you said, wiggling your hands as hard as you could to try to get out of the cuffs.

"No. Unfortunately I have a duty as king." Crowley reached into his suit and pulled out a stack of index cards lumped together with a fat paperclip. "On each card is the profile of every soul in this town alone that I am going to kill and take to Hell. So you'll excuse me if I don't want to spend my afternoon with you."

 _Paperclip!_ Hope made your stomach turn over. _If I can just reach that paperclip, I can get out._

"Then leave. Get out of town and ignore us," you offered.

Crowley smiled as though bored and tucked the wad of notecards back into his suit. "Sorry, darling. You were dangerous even before you became an adopted Winchester. I think I'll kill you." He went to Dean's duffel and rummaged through it. "How adorable it will be for Squirrel to return and find his machete lodged in Rabbit's neck."

Crowley pulled out a wicked long machete with a curved, sharp blade. Bile rose in your throat at the sight of it.

"I'm going to kill you!" you yelled, squirming more from where you were stuck. "For my family! I'm going to murder you!"

"Enough chatting." Crowley approached you. _But is he close enough?_ You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to scream, and released your breath. _Focus. Focus._ You opened your eyes and met Crowley's emotionless gaze, and then he swung the machete towards your neck.

 _Now._

Time became still. The heater in the corner of the room fell silent. The cars outside stood like statues. Crowley's expression was devoid of movement and humanity.

You strained forward and tried to reach into his suit for the pack of notecards. The first try, you couldn't reach it, and your stomach plummeted, but you managed to lean far enough forward that the pack tumbled to the floor. Hands trembling, you wedged the paperclip out from the cards.

 _There isn't much time_. How ironic, you thought as you began to pick the lock, that you were running out of time yet time was frozen.

To your utter relief and surprise, the handcuffs suddenly popped open. _Move!_ You rose to your feet, and barely got out of the way of the machete when the dam broke and time began again. You collapsed to the floor, hardly noticing Crowley's sound of surprise.

He didn't take long to regain his composure. You crawled backwards on the carpet, a horrible headache pounding in your temples. Your vision was tunneling slightly.

"Rabbit thinks she can escape," Crowley said with little interest. "Nice try, Y/N." He snapped his fingers and you flew backwards, pinned against the wall.

"I hate you," you ground out, teeth clenched against the tight invisible force that was pushing you roughly against the wall.

"I know." Crowley took the machete and pressed it against your throat. "I hate you, too. But I'd be willing to reconsider killing you if you help me win this war."

"No."

Crowley squeezed the blade against your skin more, and you could feel the machete ready to break the skin.

"I'll make this death painful," he assured you. "Y/N, we could be powerful together. King of Hell and his little companion."

"I'll never be your little companion," you told him scathingly, and spit in his face. He didn't even blink, but wiped the saliva away.

"So be it," he said, and you felt warm blood trickle down your collarbone.

"Hey, douchebag!"

 _Sam and Dean!_ Your heart leapt. Crowley turned for a fraction of a moment and the force pushing you back lessened. You punched him in the jaw and dropped to the floor, just as Sam came running over with the demon-killing knife.

"Bollocks," you heard Crowley whisper, and then he was gone.

"Y/N? You okay?" Sam asked, helping you to stand.

"I'm fine." You wiped the blood off of your neck; the cut was shallow, and barely bleeding. "I just need a bandaid, I think." You met Dean's eyes. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I never should have tried to escape, I should have listened, I-"

"No," he cut in. "We should be the ones apologizing. We handcuffed you and left you vulnerable to Crowley." He eyed the handcuffs. "How'd you get out, by the way?"

"Oh," you said, a tingle of pride warming your ears. "I froze time so that I could get Crowley's paperclip and pick the lock. How'd you know that Crowley was hear?"

"Cas heard your prayer, but he couldn't get into the motel," Sam said. "He came to us and we came as soon as we could."

You looked down at your feet. "You didn't… I mean, what you said earlier, about trust… can you trust me again?"

Dean gruffly stowed his knife in his bag. "No heart-to-hearts," he said. "You're good, we're good. How's that?"

"Good enough for me," you said, breaking into a smile.

The moment lasted two seconds. Sam suddenly froze, his eyes going past you, to someone in the back of the motel room. "Oh, God," he said softly.

"What?" you said, looking behind you, where there was no one.

"Sammy? What is it?" Dean was instantly the older brother, and recognized something was amiss. He grabbed Sam's shoulder. "You're not seeing _him_ , are you?"

You weren't quite sure who "him" was, but Sam shook his head.

"I can't believe…" he said, his voice teetering on the edge of choked - you had never heard him speak like this. "You're here."

"Who's here?" you asked, coming up to Sam's other side. "Sam?"

His eyes were filling with tears but he broke into a sad smile of disbelief. "Jess."


	17. Chapter 17

**Here's a short chapter that's pretty terrible because I've been juggling drama, homework, violin, volunteering, college applications, etc, etc, etc. I have no outline for this story so what's happening is that I write what I feel in the moment, without any idea of what's going to happen, so I apologize for any plotholes/inconsistencies. I try to keep it as smooth as possible but this story has really become a roller coaster that changes with the mood I'm in when I'm writing.**

 **Forgive me for the messiness!**

The silence in the room was disturbed by your sudden vomiting. Sam was gazing at nothing, Dean was grabbing his younger brother by the shoulders, and you were in the corner of the room, heaving your guts out.

 _I'm so helpful. No wonder the Winchesters keep me around._

You hardly even noticed your headache that was coming on. It was progressing slower than usual, and any other time you would have been excited, but more important right now was Sam.

"Is he…" You edged closer to them once you were sure no more vomit was going to come up. "Is Sam… okay?"

"Stone one," Dean was saying. "Sammy-"

Sam tore his eyes away. "Dean, it's not Lucifer. It's Jess. She's here." His eyes were shining, and a smile was breaking across his face; a heartbreaking smile that made your stomach drop into your shoes.

"Sam, no one's there," you said gently. "There's nothing."

"You don't… you don't see her?" Sam didn't wait for an answer but walked forward, arm outstretched. "Jess, can you hear me?" He waited. The room felt electrically charged with tension, and you were vaguely aware of the putrid scent of vomit wafting from the corner.

Dean was frozen to the spot. You went closer to him.

"Dean, what's going on?" you whispered, but he didn't answer.

 _The world has gone insane._

"She's there. You can't see her?" Sam looked to his brother, and then to you, and your stomach plummeted when he made eye contact with you. He was brimming with hope, but desperation as well, and you had no idea who this Jess was but clearly she was important to Sam.

"No," you said softly. "No one's there, Sam."

"But I…" He ran his hands through his hair and reached out to the spot again, placing his hand in the air as though gently touching someone's cheek. "She's standing, right there."

"Whatever you're seeing, Sammy, it's not real," Dean said, deadly serious. "There's no one there. Y/N and I can't see anyone."

You yelped as there was suddenly a breeze blowing by you and someone appeared in the room. Dean reacted automatically and wielded his knife, holding it threateningly at the young man that was now standing in their room. Sam turned, reluctantly, tearing his eyes away from whatever he was seeing.

"No need for weapons," the man said simply. "My name is Daeliel."

"You're an angel. So what are you, prick or coward?" Dean said, keeping his knife up.

"Neither." The man set his jaw. "I'm here to give you a warning. Stay out of this war." He gave you a sideways glance. "This is between Heaven and Hell, not you. The human needs to stay safe. We'd like to take her, and keep her in a cell in Heaven."

Your mouth drifted open slightly. "What?" you asked, the words not quite registering in your head.

"Like hell you are," Sam said, taking his gun from his back pocket. His eyes were still red rimmed. "You're not going anywhere with Y/N."

Daeliel raised his hands. "Not here to fight. Just to tell you to stay out of it and to take the human."

"My name's Y/N," you said angrily, "and I have a say in this! And my say is no!"

The angel studied her. "We'll keep you safe. You'll be far from Crowley. He almost killed you now, did he not? In any case, you're far too useful to be left to roam on your own."

"I'm not a pet in your stupid war!" you said, appalled.

"I see." He rubbed his face. "I'm not a killer. Nor am I a torturer, by any means. I don't believe in making people bleed to get why I want. But I'm not afraid to force you to come, if necessary. For one…" He nodded towards the corner of the room. "Sam Winchester is going to be haunted by an apparition of his dear old girlfriend unless you come."

"You son of a bitch," Dean snarled, raising the knife closer. "That's you doing that?"

"So that's what this is?" Sam asked, his voice trembling. He pointed at the edge of the room, his hand shaking slightly. "You made her appear, just to try to coerce us to let Y/N go?" He lowered his voice. "It's going to take a lot more than that to get through to us. The devil lived in my head once, and believe me, I know what psychological torture is, and this isn't it."

Daeliel sighed. "I was told that the great Dean Winchester had a weak spot for his younger brother. That if I made Sam suffer in any war, big brother would swoop in to save the day."

"Get out of here, you douche."

Daeliel wrinkled his nose. "Is that vomit I smell?" He crossed his arms. "It doesn't matter. What I came to tell you, Y/N, is that if you don't come with me then I'll have to make Sam suffer more, and then I'll start on Dean as well."

"They're stronger than you'd ever expect," you retorted. "You can't just expect to-"

Daeliel snapped his fingers, and you heard Sam gasp behind you.

"Sammy?" Dean's attention turned to his brother immediately.

"I'm fine," Sam said, teeth gritted, after a moment. "The douche decided it would be funny to show a couple more familiar faces." He didn't elaborate.

Heat rose into your face, and suddenly you hated Daeliel; hated him more than Crowley, hated that he was treating you as a tool, and screwing with Sam's head, and making life more difficult than it ever needed to be. You were about to fly at him and scratch at his eyes, punch his nose, pull at his hair - do anything you could - but Dean got there first. With a smooth flick of his hand to his back pocket he'd pulled out his angel blade and thrust it into the heart of Daeliel.

The angel screamed, looking at you for a moment as though thinking, _How could you?_ Then his eyes burned brightly and he fell to the floor, a visage of his wings burnt across the motel room. You stood there, stunned.

"Asshole," Dean muttered, wiping the blade on his pants. "Sammy? You good now?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Sam said, wiping at his eyes. "I just… can I have a minute?" He averted his eyes to avoid looking at both of you.

Dean paused. "Yeah," he said finally, and you both left the room.

"Okay, explain," you said, once you and Dean were sitting outside the motel and the door was shut. "Who's Jess? And what was the point of that stupid angel?"

"Daeliel wasn't too dangerous, but it's a warning, I think," Dean said. "Heaven wants us out of this." He snorted. "Damn angels. One war they want to use our meatsuits like we're napkins and the next one they want us out of the way."

"But who's Jess?"

"Sam's girlfriend, when he was at Stanford. Azazel killed her," he said simply. You weren't quite sure what to say to that.

"Sam says he got over it years ago, but I know he still misses her. I've seen him looking at photos, and… you saw him now, when he thought she was back. He loved her."

"We should leave," you said. "Crowley knows we're here, Heaven knows we're here, and we're in a vomit-smelling motel room that minutes ago was occupied by Sam's girlfriend. This town is-"

"Bad news," Dean finished. "I'm with you, Y/N." He looked at you more seriously. "You know that it would take a hell of a lot to make us let you go, right?"

"Yeah, Dean. That's why you handcuffed me today. I really feel the love."

"Whatever," he grumbled, standing up. "I'll get Sam and see how he's doing. You want to pack up the Impala?"

"Yeah," jumping to your feet. "Where to next?"

"Crowley's in the wind now, and Heaven's on our asses," Dean said. "I say back to the Batcave."

With that, he went back into the room.

 _I can't leave yet._

This was your first time back in Maine since your family had died. You'd just gotten here… and you were so close to your friends. You hadn't seen them in so long.

Setting your jaw, you followed Dean back into the motel room.

 _We can't leave just yet._


End file.
